


that's ever been mine

by mozartspiano



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band), Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-20 12:54:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 57,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6006778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mozartspiano/pseuds/mozartspiano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's hands are shaking. There are two plates broken at his feet and their edges poke into the dark hardwood. The glass of water he'd been enjoying a minute ago is dripping down the cabinet behind his head.</p><p>Taylor always was dramatic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. london

**Author's Note:**

> a huge thank you to JESS aka [popstars-vs-radio1](http://popstar-vs-radio1.tumblr.com/) for the most beautiful artwork. i honestly lost my mind the first time you sent me art and every time after that. sorry for screaming so much in my emails. 
> 
> another thanks to kate for reading this over and saying nice things and getting me into the west wing. all the love, h, etc, etc. 
> 
> there are mentions of off-screen harry/kendall jenner, niall/selena gomez, and taylor/calvin harris. only the latter makes it into the story in a talking role. there are mentions of abortion and a brief discussion about it. both sex between two cis men and between a cis woman and a cis man are written below. there is a NSFW picture in chapter 1. i believe that is all. 
> 
> FINALLY, there is a mention of harry tweeting lyrics from 22 in the story. I wrote that line before Harry E. Styles actually tweeted said lyrics. it is my proudest moment. thank you. i hope you enjoy.
> 
> title from taylor swift's _mine_.

Harry's hands are shaking. There are two plates broken at his feet and their edges poke into the dark hardwood. The glass of wine he'd been enjoying a minute ago is dripping down the cabinet behind his head.

Taylor always was dramatic.

"Don't step anywhere," Harry hears himself say. "The glass will cut you."

"I thought I told you to stop talking."

Her back is straight and fierce like she's on a red carpet with her girls on either side, head tilted like she could squish him like a bug under her Louboutins. But her eyes are red and she's blinking fast like she does when they're cooking together, the onions giving her a hard time.

"I don't want to see you or that ring anywhere near this house for awhile," she says, her voice lifting up at the end like it's a question. It isn't. "Get out."

Harry nods and leaves the kitchen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are too many people at Heathrow Airport; too many crying mums and screechy toddlers and hobbling grandparents with homemade signs. Usually Harry likes the airport, likes a good hustle and bustle and the romantic in him can't deny his desire for a _Love Actually_ reunion scene, but the eleven and a half hours in a plane has derailed his enthusiasm slightly.

The driver Paulina arranged for him is outside the main entrance and Stephen, the security guard he met at LAX, guides him to it with one large hand on his back. Harry's not used to security with faces he doesn't recognize and an American, "Just follow me, Mr. Styles," but he's not used to a lot in this post-band life.

"Good evening," the driver says as he opens the door for Harry to slip through.

"Evening." He sits, sliding his bag next to him and hearing the satisfying click of the door closing. There are hardly any people taking pictures of the car. He has half a mind to call up Francis and report a minor miracle.

The driver slips into the front seat and looks to pull out of his space. "Will you be going to the address your assistant sent our offices?"

Harry thinks about his North London house. It's going to be terribly clean.

"No," he says, twirling his phone round and around in his left hand. "Thank you though."

He rattles off a more familiar address and leans back. London is busy and wet, the streets damp from a previous rain and the sky promising a new one. They leave the airport with a Tuesday night ease but stop dead as they pull through Hammersmith. The energy that filled Harry's lungs in the sunshine exhales against the window in a fog. He draws a tired smiley in it and closes his eyes.

Primrose Hill looks the same. He knows it's different in the daylight but he's used to it at night, when the streetlights are glowing amber and his skin is wriggling. The car pulls into an empty space and the driver goes to open his door-

"I've got it," Harry says, pushing his own door open. He grabs his bag and smiles. "Thanks for the lift."

A puddle splashes out to greet him as he walks down the pavement. There are a group of teenagers on the corner of the street, posh accents and big hair, and he quickens his pace before they either mug him or try and get his autograph. Or both.

The stairs down are the same as is the plastic mat outside the door. Harry drags his feet over it mindlessly, can remember doing the same thing when it was September and there were leaves stuck to the soles of his trainers.

He takes a long breath in and watches it turn just grey in the cold. Then he raises his hand and presses on the buzzer.

Barking starts immediately and then a hushing chatter. Harry puts his hands in his coat pockets, then out, then back in, then out once more. They hang loose at his side. He fixes his hair with his right hand, scratching through his curls and pushing them back before the door opens.

"Hi," Harry says after a second.

Nick blinks at him. He has Pig wiggling in his arms and there's a pink clip holding back his fringe. He looks stupid. He looks amazing.

"Hi," Nick says, slowly.

Harry grins. After a moment, Nick grins back.

 

  
[](http://imgur.com/RbPJGzN)   
[ ](http://imgur.com/ltrBO1m)  


 

"So you're back."

"I'm back."

Nick's fingers itch through Harry's hair like they're pretending it's a cigarette. He's been trying to quit for years but Harry's not sure he ever will.

"Flight was okay?"

"There was a baby wailing while we flew over the Atlantic. Felt bad for the mother."

"Did you give her the old stink eye?"

"No she-" Harry stops short. "No."

Nick pushes Harry's face away from his neck with one hand so they can look at each other. "You were about to say that she was in economy class, weren't you?"

Harry squirms. "No."

"You _were_."

"Well," Harry says, dragging out the word. Nick laughs and it makes Harry grin, too bright. "You can't expect me to sit in the back with all the _commoners_ , can you?"

"You're a savage, Harry Styles."

"Mm," Harry says and lets his eyes drift down to Nick's mouth. "C'mere."

They kiss like they've always done, legs over hips and chests pushed tight together. Harry has never been able to get close enough to Nick, has never been able to climb into his body and strum Nick's ribcage like he wants to.

Nick bites at his bottom lip twice before he pulls away. It stings like a bee's been at it.

"Got a new sofa while you were away."

"Oh yeah?" Harry hadn't noticed it on the way to Nick's bedroom, had only noticed how Nick's hands made him feel like he was seventeen forever. "Want to go christen it?"

"Maybe later."

Nick's smile is slow and it makes Harry dip in for more. Their lips hum around each other's and Nick remembers to bite, just so. Harry pushes his thigh up between Nick's, wanting to be engulfed, wants to be swallowed whole by this feeling. He's been to every corner of the planet and never found anything like this.

"For real though," Nick says, his lip slipping out from between Harry's. "How long are you staying for?"

Harry grins and drags his tongue up over the column of Nick's throat. "However long you want me."

Nick pulls away, a serious look on his face. "Harry."

"Nicholas."

"H, come on."

"It's my first night back for fuck's sake," Harry says, his left hand making soft circles over Nick's hipbone. "Can we leave the questioning for tomorrow?"

Nick's lip looks so good, tucked up between his teeth. Harry wants to bite it.

"I'll let you tie me to one of the chairs in the kitchen, get out the cattle prod. We'll make a whole day of it."

A smile tugs his lip free. "You'd look good in a pair of ass-less chaps."

"Don't I know it," Harry smiles, shifting his head onto Nick's pillow so their noses brush. It feels more intimate than touching dicks ever has. "I'll show you the pictures tomorrow."

"You spoil me."

"I'd certainly like to."

Harry tilts his head for Nick's kiss, lets Nick climb half on top of him. It's easy to get hard again like this, cock pressed up against Nick's thigh, his own thighs still sore from being thrown around Nick's waist.

"Tomorrow?" Nick asks, pulling back enough to give Harry his infamous eyebrow tilt. It's unbearably attractive.

"Shut up and fuck me," Harry says, before remembering his manners – "Please."

Nick does what he's told.

 

There's what feels like a wet nose at Harry's ankles as he wakes and the snuffling that follows sounds suspiciously like a certain pig who isn't allowed in the bed.

"Nicholas," Harry mumbles, eyes crusted together with sleep. "Your child is licking me."

Nick makes this weird soft snorting noise.

"Nick."

"Not my child before nine am," Nick mutters, still more pillow than human.

Harry sighs. "Do you want me to let her out?"

"Hngh."

Harry untangles himself from Nick's sheets and slides a pair of boxers up his thighs. It's colder than he expected, used to the high temperatures he keeps his house at, so he throws on a jumper of Nick's that's hanging over the closet door.

Pig scrambles out the door as soon as Harry slides it open, running to natter away at some birds. Harry's sure she's going to find a nice pile of dirt and come back filthy, but he doesn't worry too much. It's almost nine, after all.

Nick stumbles in awhile later, hair an absolute mess. He's got on those long plaid pajamas that are always in movies and his unshaved face gives Harry some ideas.

"Coffee?"

"Yep." Harry watches his pull out a mug and pour some in. "There are sausages and pancakes in the oven."

"You're an angel."

"I'm aware."

Harry gets up from his seat at the kitchen table and saunters over to Nick. He grabs Nick's mug from his hands, takes a sip, and puts it down on the counter beside them.

"I missed mornings with you," Harry says, sliding his arms around Nick's neck. He has to push up on his toes a bit to do it but he loves it, always misses it when he's in a relationship with someone who's smaller than he is.

"Well, I am a complete delight."

Harry kisses the side of Nick's neck slowly. "Of course."

Nick's hands feel so warm on his sides, down his back, up the sweater. Nick has always had this way of making Harry feel like he'll never be touched by anyone else. The scruff on Nick's cheeks burns across Harry's neck as Nick runs his mouth to Harry's collarbones.

"Itchy," Harry says, not minding at all.

"I am the manliest man you know."

"Obviously."

"Wait-" Nick's hands move to Harry's hips and with an insulting huff he gets Harry up on the counter in front of him. "Jesus, you're heavy."

"It's all muscle, babe."

Nick pokes his stomach. Harry grabs his fingers and twines them through his own instead, dragging Nick's big dumb face close so he can kiss it quiet. He tugs Nick in, ankle tossed around Nick's hips; the hair on Harry's thighs stand up, waiting. There are lots of things Nick loves, like his own hair and Chelsea boots and X Factor, but he loves Harry's thighs more than all of those things combined.

He sighs when Nick's big hands finally palm at his thighs, shifts closer on the counter. Nick's fingers are just sliding under his boxers, teasing Harry's heart into a frenzy, when Nick steps away.

"What," Harry says, eyes still closed from the kiss. He opens them to give Nick a little glare. "Get back here."

"H," Nick says, pulling his lip between his fingers. "I think we should talk before we do anything else."

"You didn't say that last night."

"No, but I probably should have."

Harry's butt is getting sore on the counter. He slides off, fixing his hair. "If this is you trying to be an adult then know I don't like it."

"It's known," Nick says as he pulls out a pair of oven mitts from a drawer. They have sheep on them. "Pancakes?"

 

They don't talk about it over breakfast, wait until the dishes are stacked in the sink before Nick leads Harry to the couch under the skylight, one hand on Harry's arse.

"If you're trying to be a real adult you should probably stop groping me all the time."

"Enough, you." Nick pulls Harry down on top of him, falling to the couch in one big sprawl.

"You know what I like about you so much?" Harry asks, pushing his bum back into Nick's stomach until Nick shifts over and they're not on top of one another. "You don't ever want to talk about your feelings. I really love that."

"Suck it up, princess," Nick says, settling him with a look. "Now. You're back."

"We went over this last night, Grim-"

"How long are you back for?"

"However long you want me to be."

"How long, for real?"

Harry's smile slip-slides off his face. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"This isn't the first time you've said that, is all."

"I don't have a world tour that starts tomorrow Nick," Harry says, more desperate than he'd like. "I can be here for real this time."

Nick nods slow and Harry thinks it's over, then, goes to kiss Nick's neck when- "Why now?"

"What?"

"Why now?"

"Didn't you hear me? I finally have the time now."

"Your band of muppets has been broken up for almost a year," Nick says, eyes like honey when it's gone cold. "Why didn't you come knocking on my door then? What did nine months change for you? It must have been something, or we would have been having this conversation on Boxing Day."

"I-" Harry's never been good with this shit. He likes to say _I love you_ , likes to talk about sex and dates and romance, not this. Not with Nick. "I needed some time. It wouldn't have felt right, to come here right away."

"You needed time?" Nick asks, his eyebrow quirked and Harry braces himself. "Or you needed a – what, a Kardashian? And after that - what, that European model for Saint Laurent? Is that what you needed?"

"Stop."

Nick looks away. Harry itches the tip of his thumb with his index finger.

"It's not like you've been waiting around for me either."

"I didn't realize I was supposed to."

"Nick, I-" Harry stops himself, bites on his tongue lightly. "What are we doing?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out."

There's nothing Nicholas Grimshaw loves more than a screaming row where he can storm out dramatically at the end. Harry's not known for fighting, but he can dish it out as good as he can take it, has had a couple goes on this couch even. He doesn't want this to be one of them.

"I want to go back to your first question," Harry says, pitching his voice lower. He looks up at Nick with soft eyes, doesn't continue until Nick meets his eyes with a huff. "I want you to know that I'm not planning on leaving."

"Just because you're not _planning_ on it doesn't mean you won't."

"But it won't be because of my job," he says, grabbing onto Nick's hand even though he probably shouldn't. "It won't be because of Harry Styles."

"Love, what have I told you about speaking in the third person-"

"I'm not running away," Harry says, smiling when Nick tries to look away, moving his head so their eyes meet again. "I'm here. I want to be here. I've wanted to be here since I was eighteen."

Nick is looking at their hands. He's rarely serious about anything, fiercely loyal and stupidly kind, but not serious.

"If you want to do this, I'm ready," Harry says, chuckling a bit. "Finally. Sorry about the wait."

"You had to go make a million people happy," Nick says, squeezing Harry's fingers. "It's allowed."

Harry leans forward, presses his forehead against Nick's. Their noses brush. Nick's hand lets go of his and moves up up up, sliding through Harry's hair. Harry feels a quiver in his stomach; it feels like the lead up to a first kiss, all nervous hands and shaky breaths.

"You gonna kiss me or what?"

"Shut up," Harry says.

It's hard to navigate the kiss with their smiles so wide, but they manage.

 

Harry goes for his first three am run a week after he moves in with Nick.

"Wha-" Nick slurs as Harry slides out of bed. He's ninety eight percent still asleep. "What's happening?"

"Going for a run," Harry says, hanging his head over Nick's so his hair falls all over his face. "Wanna come with?"

"All those popstar years melted your brain," Nick says with the slurred eloquence only a morning radio presenter can have. "I feel sorry for you."

"It's important to stay in shape."

"There are many hours when the sun is up for that, you pest."

"I'll be your best friend," Harry sing-songs.

Nick opens one eye, looking like he regrets every choice he's ever made. "You're the worst thing in my life."

"That is not what your dick was telling me last night."

"Oh yeah? You having secret meetings without me?"

"Mm," Harry says, thinking absently about climbing on top of Nick, forgoing his run. It had seemed so right a few minutes ago, the perfect cure to settle the rustle in his bones. Now he just wants to suck Nick's cock for half an hour.

Nick sighs, shifting Harry's pillow over his face.

"Sure you don't want to go?"

A muffled noise comes from behind the pillow.

"Alright, suit yourself."

London is different at 3am. It's a bit scarier, dark shadows and hulking trees, but Harry's never been worried about that. It helps that he's got a big, hulking man named Peter, who weighs more than some Toyotas, to run with.

He's always liked a sleeping city. For a few years he's toyed with the idea of getting a place in New York, of being able to get lost in the hustle bustle of eight million people, all with a single, pulsating dream. But he couldn't imagine a city never taking a break, couldn't imagine not being able to roll around while New York was out for a slumber.

He loves his sleeping town and the quiet, rolling streets of Beverly Hills. He loves the quiet of a hotel room, the low hum of a tour bus, the gentle wheeze of Niall's breath when they curled up together in that tent in Sweden and Harry couldn't sleep because he didn't want to miss a second.

For a long time his life has been loud. And he loves that loud, loves Pig's chatter and Nick's laugh and the bursting smile a girl he's never met gets when she meets him in the street.

It's nice to run, though. Nice to let his own breath take over, let his mind go off without him. He'll catch up to it eventually, when he's ready to have it back, but it's nice to watch it run ahead now, just out of reach.

 

It's the same and completely different, living in London again. He's never stopped living in London, technically, but his home base has shifted over the years. It's good being back though, even if it isn't the same pace as when he was eighteen.

Most of his older friends are settled down, married or tired all the time. He goes to lunch with Lou and Lux and then sees Tom for drinks and it's fucking weird and awful, lying to both of them about his plans.

Everything feels slower now. He used to rush from place to place, party to party, desperate for distractions. Stumbling from club to taxi under Nick's arm were the only times London felt right. He doesn't feel an itch anymore, doesn't feel desperate to feel everything at once.

He goes out to lunch with Gemma one day and then shopping around Covent Garden because she's in the market for a bedside lamp. Harry wears his hair up and under a beanie and it looks a bit odd but he doesn't get noticed once.

"I love this," Gemma says, holding up a ceramic elephant lamp. It's hideous and Harry loves it too. "I want twelve of these."

"Perfect," Harry says, bumping his hip into her side. "That's Christmas and birthdays for the next six years sorted."

"You're not charming."

"Thirty million people would disagree."

Gemma sticks out her tongue and Harry laughs. She goes to the till to pay and Harry takes a look around the market. He tries to picture himself here without the beanie, without a Range Rover outside to pick him up afterwards. He tries to imagine being a student, hungover and exhausted, writing papers and having people like Nick just be a name to him, someone to listen to on the radio.

"Ready to go?"

"Hm?" Harry looks up. Gemma has a big box in her arms. "Yeah. Here, I'll take that-"

They argue over the package until Gemma's back in Brixton. The car drops her off in front of the three bedroom flat Harry tried to pay for. It's still sort of weird not living with her, even when he's happy he doesn't. It's nice to have his own bathroom.

  
[ ](http://imgur.com/89D5x92)  


Nick's not home yet so Harry gets dinner ready, roasted potatoes and chicken and steamed asparagus. He sets the table, pours the wine, and waits.

There's a kind of romance to having dinner on the table, a smart Gucci button down on over his nicest jeans. It's nice to see Nick's face change as he looks up from greeting Pig at the door, his eyes wide as he sees the candles and Harry holding his hands out for Nick's jacket.

"You didn't have to do this."

"I know. Sit?"

It's not a fancy meal, not a one-off date. If Harry plays his cards right this is going to be his life.

They barely make it through dinner, Nick's ankle pressed to Harry's under the table, Harry leaning over so Nick can slice him off a piece of chicken, feeding it between his lips. It's shouldn't be sensual, Nick cackling as he shoves too much chicken into Harry's mouth, and yet somehow-

They take dessert to bed with them, two cupcakes, one lemon one raspberry, that he bought in a bakery off Russell.

"Eating is better naked," Nick says as he tucks a bite of lemon cake in between Harry's lips. The citrus flavour slides across Harry's tongue as Nick's bare leg skids over his own.

"No arguments here."

It's been long enough since they first did this that they know each other's strengths and weaknesses. Harry's good with his mouth, Nick with his fingers. Interestingly, Harry's main weakness in life is Nick's fingers.

In little time (they've perfected it over the years) Harry's got his knees tossed over Nick's elbows, Nick panting above him. There are a few grey hairs at Nick's temple and Harry keeps his eyes on them as Nick rocks into him, almost too fast.

"Fuck H," Nick says, slurring a bit at the end as he presses his mouth against Harry's knee. "You always feel so fucking good."

"I'm doing you next." Harry tilts his head back a bit, makes eye contact with the ridiculous Eminem poster above Nick's bed. He smiles, shuts his eyes, and holds back his noises so Nick's already huge head doesn't grow.

"I'm getting too old for that."

"Nonsense."

Harry once blew Nick in the toilet of a curry place that was opened twenty four hours. He barely noticed the grimy floor under his knees, even though the rip in his jeans made everything a bit more - intimate. All he was focused on was Nick, Nick running through his veins, Nick's fingers running through his hair.

Harry's always wanted a consuming love.

When it's over Nick falls onto his heaving chest. They've gotten good at timed orgasms over the years, so Nick immediately starts complaining about Harry's spunk getting on him.

"-it's gross, Hazza-"

"Shut up, Nicholas. You're ruining my afterglow."

"Your face is ruining my afterglow…"

It takes a lot of prodding and more than a handful of whines on Harry's part but they end up showered and back in bed in a dozen minutes, the end of Harry's hair getting Nick's pillow all wet.

"I'm going to sue you for this."

"Calm down."

"This is the worst thing that's ever happened to me."

"You'll live."

"If you were falling off a cliff," Nick says, and now his voice is slower, sleepier. "If you were just hanging there, I would wait for _awhile_ before I saved you."

"But you would still save me," Harry smiles, moving closer to Nick's mouth. "Wouldn't you, baby?"

Nick laughs. "Who are you calling baby?"

"Baby."

"Stop that."

Harry shifts a bit closer, puts his hand on Nick's chest, lowers his voice. " _Baby_."

"Mm," Nick says, closing his eyes. "I like that."

They fall asleep like that, entangled, Harry's laugh pressed to Nick's shoulder.

 

Four hours later Harry wakes up to a dead arm. It's trapped under Nick, the same Nick who is tipped onto his back and snoring like a lawnmower. Harry thinks about how ironic it would be to go deaf, not from five years of screaming in his ears, but by Nick's snores as he tries to gently shove Nick off.

It doesn't work.

Harry tries a little harder, shimmying his numb arm around like a floppy whale in the effort to get out from under Nick's sweaty back.

"God," Harry mumbles in the darkness of the room. An ambulance screeches out somewhere over London. "I swear you weren't this heavy when you were fucking me."

Nick doesn't say anything, but he does snuffle his nose a little. It makes Harry's heart melt and his lower lip wobble. He fights against his feelings and tries one more heave, pulling his arm with all his might. It mostly just exhausts him and annoys him further. He glares at Nick's dumb head.

Harry pokes him.

Nick gives a dissatisfied noise in his sleep and doesn't wake. Harry sighs, flopping back down. There are crusty bits of sleep in his eyes and his toes are cold because despite establishing himself as the blanket stealer many years ago, Nick has decided to take it up tonight.

Harry shifts back up onto his side and pinches Nick's nose shut.

It takes a few seconds, seconds filled with a miraculous silence, before Nick awakes spluttering loudly.

"Wha-?" he slurs, blinking rapidly. "Wha's a matter? Pig?"

Harry waits for him to get his bearings, staring at him from across the pillow. His unimpressed glower is waning slightly because he's finding it difficult to not laugh at Nick's floundering face.

"Jesus," Nick says, still half asleep, eyes slipping shut. "The fuck, Styles?"

He pokes Nick in the side.

Nick turns his head and gives him a squinty, asleep look. "What?"

"Nicholas," Harry says impatiently. He can't feel his right hand at all. "You're lying on my arm."

One blink. Two blinks.

"Oh," Nick says, arching his back and squiggling on the mattress to free Harry's arm. Harry has to grab it with his other hand to bring it back to his body. It's tingling.

"Sorry," Nick says.

"I have pins and needles," Harry whines, looking down at his dead useless arm. "They hurt."

"I said I'm sorry."

"They still hurt."

" _Harry_ -"

"And you snore."

Nick gives him a look. "I do not snore."

"Yes you do," Harry says, impatiently. Nick's eyes are all sluggish and pretty in the dark but he doesn't let that derail him. "You have a terrible snore. Thought I slept with a motorcycle for a minute."

"Well you snore too."

"No I don't." He does.

"Do too," Nick pulls the covers up to his chin, making them slide across Harry's calf and leave it bare. "Not me, though. I've never heard myself snore once."

Harry gives him the most withering stare he can manage and turns on his other side, back to Nick. He tugs the covers back over himself.

"Oh, okay," Nick says behind him. Harry squirms to get comfortable. "I see what you're doing here."

"Goodnight Nicholas," Harry says, sniffing into his pillow. He closes his eyes.

A few seconds later he feels Nick move towards him, chest against his back. An arm comes around Harry's waist, pulling them together tight.

"One day I'm going to get sick of the petulant baby act," Nick says in his ear, breath tickling Harry's neck. Harry bites down a smile and settles back into the warmth.

"Never," Harry whispers back.

 

"The car's nearly here, Harold, I don't have time-"

"You do too have time, now sit down," Harry says, pushing Nick by the shoulders until he relents. "I went to a lot of work to make this and I don't appreciate the hostility."

"It's not hostility, babe, I just really have to go."

"I know that you don't do breakfast, and you think that makes you cool or whatever, but it's really important to start your day off right."

"Cool? I was cool before you were born, Styles."

"Uh huh."

"Don't you _uh huh_ me! God the early days when I was on Freshly Squeezed with Chung- we'd have an aspirin and a diet Coke and call it brunch!"

"I was thirteen when you were on Freshly Squeezed."

Nick looks like he's just aged twenty years in two seconds. "Please give me the eggs so I can choke and die on them."

"Stop being so dramatic."

"I'm old and senile, Harold, I can't help my flair for the dramatics."

Harry rolls his eyes and sets the plate down in front of Nick, leaning over to hook his chin over Nick's shoulder. "Please eat the food I made."

Nick does. He shoves his mouth full of egg and avocado and opens it up for Harry to see which, charming, thank you Nicholas. He feeds Harry a bit, chin still hung over his shoulder, and watches his lips when Harry lets out little moan around the fork.

"You're a minx."

"I try."

The honk of Nick's car interrupts them. Harry leans away from Nick, watching him flutter around the kitchen in search of his keys and wallet and bag and shit, where did he put his computer, has Harry seen it, he could have sworn it was on the ugly chair with the elephant cushion Henry gave him six years ago.

Harry rinses off the plates and hums softly. When Nick finally has his life together he runs over, one boot still unzipped as he hops around.

"Bye love," he says, smacking a kiss on Harry's cheek. "Don't get hideous and poor while I'm gone, please, or I'll have to leave you."

"I'll do my best," Harry says, turning to meet Nick's eye.

Nick kisses him, just like he thought he would. He's all warm lips and hands gentle around his back. The second honk tears them apart.

"See you!" Nick calls as he runs for the door, apologies already bursting from his lips before he's shut the door. Harry laughs and closes his eyes, an odd flutter in his stomach. He wasn't sure he would like this, sending Nick off every morning while he washed the dishes and took the dog for a walk. And maybe he won't forever, but right now, in this room, he can't convince the smile away from his face.

 

Harry gets a call the next day as he's planting tulips in Nick's back garden, the early September sun warming his ears. He wipes his hands across his thighs, brown slashes of dirt across faded black, and tugs his phone out of his back pocket.

"Taylor," he says, surprised. "What's up?"

"Hi," she says down the line, voice clipped. "Are you in public?"

"Um." Harry looks at Pig. She's rolling around blissfully in the patch of muddy grass next to Harry's spade. "No, I'm at home."

"LA?"

"London."

"Oh good," Taylor says. "Good, that's good."

"Are you okay?" Harry asks, shifting so he's off his knees and is instead sat cross-legged on the grass next to Pig. "You sound a little off."

"I need to talk to you."

Harry blinks. Her voice is all business, not the dry wit he's used to. "Alright. Are you in town too?"

"I'll be at Ed's tomorrow night," Taylor says. He tries to picture her in a hotel room all alone, wearing one of her hilarious cat robes. "Can you, um, meet me maybe? I'll order in some food or something."

"Egg rolls?"

Taylor laughs and Harry lets himself smile. "Sure. If you think you can take them after last time."

Doing seven shots of tequila and then eating eleven egg rolls is not Harry's most shining moment, but it's definitely not his worst. Especially because Taylor held back his hair for him while he was sick in the toilet.

"Always," Harry says, scratching at Pig's chin. "Eight good?"

"Perfect."

"You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," Taylor says. It's been a month or so since he last saw her and he can't quite tell if she's lying. "I will be."

They ring off. Harry lies back in the small garden and watches the sky. London is a murky purple today but there are hardly any clouds and Harry can see the faint outline of the moon.

Pig ambles over and lies her face over Harry's heartbeat. He reaches a hand to get under her ears and she chatters and wiggles to get comfy.

He takes a quick kip there, warm under Pig's soft body, until he wakes up to find Nick sitting over him, braiding blades of grass into his hair.

 

"Need a hand with the plates?"

"I got them. You can sit down."

"Couch?"

"Sure."

Harry takes their glasses to the couch, fingers cupped around the gentle stem. He used to hold his mother's wine glasses, the ones she got at her first wedding, when he was a teenager, wandering around the kitchen with them because it made him feel so fancy and mature.

Ed wasn't in when he arrived, just Taylor with Olivia under one arm and her hair up in a plait. She wasn't wearing any lipstick at all and almost nothing on her eyes and it made Harry realize he hadn't seen her like this in years. He loves Taylor Swift with eyeliner sharp like an assassin but he loves soft Taylor too.

"This looks delicious," he says as she sets their plates down on Ed's coffee table. There's a notebook on it and two different pens.

Harry hasn't been in Ed's new place before, but he already loves it. On the mantle by the ridiculous wood burning fireplace is a picture of Ed on vacation when he was seven with a candy floss the size of his head. Bracketing it on either side are Grammys. Harry has half a mind to swipe one.

"I'm glad we got the extra cheese."

"I told you there wouldn't be enough. Never enough cheese."

"You were right."

Harry bites into his piece and watches the elastic bend of cheese slouch before he yanks it once with his teeth. It slaps back onto the slice. Next to him Taylor hasn't picked hers up yet.

"You okay?" Harry asks, taking a sip of his wine. "You look weird."

"I'm fine," Taylor sips her water. She still insisted on having it in a wineglass though, because she loves fancy drinks and paper plates. "I just- need to tell you something."

"Is it about Calvin?"

"What?"

"Calvin," Harry says, feeling a little awkward now. Olivia is asleep in front of the fireplace and he wants to pick her up, just to have something to do with his hands. "The last time we, erm- talked, you were in a rough spot with him. Did you get back together?"

Taylor blinks twice, quickly. "No. We didn't get back together. Well - it's complicated."

"The best thing's usually are."

She doesn't say anything to that, doesn't even smile.

"What's up?" Harry asks, softly. He puts his glass down and shifts closer. "Is it your music? Are things not going well or something? Do you want some wine?"

"I don't want any wine."

"You're not giving me anything, babe."

Taylor covers her face with both hands and breathes. Harry slides his arm along the back of the couch, shuffling his leg under himself so he can face her. He tucks his hair behind his left ear.

"I don't know how to tell you," Taylor says eventually, her face still hidden behind her hands. The last time she did that was the last time he saw her, when they were drunk on margaritas and Harry was between her legs and she started laughing.

"Just tell me."

"I fucking wish I could."

"Do you want me to say something scandalous so your thing seems less scandalous in comparison?" Harry asks, grinning. He ignores the worrying in his stomach.

"Harry."

"Zayn and I had a threesome with this girl back in the early days and Liam walked in," Harry says and Taylor stops her deep breathing. "He turned purple and left."

She peaks out from behind one finger. "Stop."

"Once Nick ate sushi off my naked body," Harry stops short, backtracking. "It wasn't in like, a sexy way though, I just feel asleep and he thought it'd be funny."

Taylor laughs and then hiccups. She's looking down at her hands.

"I did cocaine off a guy's house key on a party bus in Oslo? Caroline used to film me sometimes with her old video camera?"

"Please stop."

"I'm just trying to lighten the mood."

"Don't, okay?"

"Tell me, love. It can't be worse than the time-"

"I'm pregnant."

Taylor's eyes are blue and wide and wet and Harry has forgotten how to breathe.

"What?" he hears someone whisper, and it must be him but he doesn't know how it could be. His hands are numb. He can't feel his toes and his heartbeat is pounding so loud in his ears.

"Fuck."

Taylor's hands are at her hair now and she isn't looking at him anymore. He takes a breath in and it's so loud, too fucking loud. The room feels cold all of a sudden, like he could see his breath in white bursts.

Harry's eyes go to her stomach and he tries to see it, tries to picture her slight ankles swollen and her belly round. She's covered with a big hoodie of Ed's now and she can't be, it's not possible.

"You're sure?" She looks up at him and he shakes his head. Fuck, of course. She wouldn't tell him if she wasn't sure.

Somewhere in the house a clock is ticking. Harry wonders where the fuck Ed found an analog clock and why he would buy an analog clock. It's probably an antique grandfather clock that Taylor got him for Christmas or his birthday, one with a chamber big enough that a little kid could slip in for a game of hide-and-go-seek. Fuck. A kid.

"It's yours," Taylor says, soft and expected. "I haven't – since that night."

He takes in a shaky breath. He isn't surprised.

A flashing club and so many drinks, too many fucking drinks. All of Taylor's model friends were there including the pretty redhead she wanted him to like but instead he stared at her, always the one to be contrary. He asked about Calvin and she muttered something and grabbed his hands like that was an answer, pulling him onto the dance floor and spinning him round and round. They went back to her hotel with two burly security guards and fucked all night, until Harry was sore and Taylor's thighs were shaking. He fell asleep with his head on her stomach and left before she could wake up so he didn't have to hear her _I have a boyfriend this is just fun_ speech for the fifteenth time.

"I can't believe I'm that girl," Taylor is saying now. Harry tries to listen to her over his heartbeat, tries to hear anything over the white noise in his ears. "I got pregnant. I'm fucking pregnant."

"It's okay."

"It's not fucking okay, Harry," she sounds so scared. He sounds so scared. "How am I supposed to tell my mom? How am I supposed to say that you knocked me up after a night I spent cheating on my boyfriend?"

Harry looks at his hands. They aren't shaking but he still can't really feel them. He's never really thought about what it would be like to find out he's going to be a father, but after all the stuff with Louis it crossed his mind and this – this isn't what he thought it would be like. He didn't think it'd be this.

"I almost went to an abortion clinic today," Taylor says. Harry's eyes snap to hers. She isn't crying anymore, looks angry and sad. "Almost got rid of it before I could tell you. But I couldn't even get out of the car."

"How-" he clears his throat, looks down at his feet. "How long have you known?"

"Four days. I haven't – told anyone."

Harry's eyes meet hers again. "No one?"

Taylor shakes her head. "No one."

Her chin quilts and Harry can feel himself go along with her, vision going blurry and mouth tightening. He reaches his arms out and her face falls into his neck. He clings to her and she's shaking. He's shaking. The whole house is shaking.

"What are we going to do?"

"I don't know," Taylor says, harsh breath against his collarbone. "I don't know."

Harry closes his eyes and tries to breathe.

 

Nick's up in bed reading when Harry gets home.

"Hey," he says, smiling friendly from over the top of his glasses. "How's Taylor?"

"Good," Harry says, peeling his jeans off his legs. "We had pizza."

"Would have expected a kale salad from you two health nuts."

Harry laughs, unbuttons his shirt, and goes in to the en suite. He runs the tap, splashing his face with icy water. It drips down from the tip of his nose and makes his pores feel wide awake.

When he looks in the mirror he doesn't quite recognize himself. His eyes are pink, his lips red and chapped because he'd pulled on them for the entire drive home. He feels pale.

A few minutes later he slides in next to Nick, all minty fresh and moisturized. Nick's put the book away, Katharine Hepburn's autobiography because Jessie Ware recommended it when she came in last. The lights flick off and then it's just the two of them and the dark.

"Was Ed in too?"

"He came home as I was about to leave," Harry says, thinking about the hour and a half he spent on the couch with Taylor. His arms are still a little sore. "We um, watched Mean Girls."

"I love Mean Girls."

"I know you do."

Thinking about the sound of a car coming up the drive while Taylor and he put themselves back together makes his stomach hurt; Ed's smile was so easy and his hug was so warm and it felt impossible, walking away from where Taylor was still curled up on the couch.

Nick sidles up behind him, putting a hand over his stomach and sticking his nose in Harry's hair. "You looked really pale when you first came in, love. Alright?"

"Think I might be getting a cold."

"Oh no." Nick presses a little kiss to the shell of Harry's ear. "Princess Harold's immune system isn't ready for the chilly months ahead."

Harry laughs and it's almost genuine. His fingers still feel funny and every time he closes his eyes he hears Taylor's voice ringing out _pregnant_ and _abortion_.

"Good night darling," Nick says, pressing his knees into the backs of Harry's.

Harry grabs Nick's hand off his stomach and slides their hands together, cups them over his heartbeat.

"Good night."

While Nick sleeps behind him, soft snores ruffling his curls, Harry spends the night reciting every prayer he knows.

 

It's impossible to stop thinking about. He tries to garden, tries to watch Pig befriend squirrels in the park, but it's useless. Harry's always talked a lot and revealed a little but he's always been able to hash it out with his mum or Lou or Nick, always been able to cry on the phone until his head was cleared.

He's not used to having secrets he can't tell Nick.

The first day he wakes up after knowing that he is – could be – will be? – might be? – a father, there's a lump in his throat and a Grimshaw singing into his face at full pelt.

"Going to work, I'm going to woooooork, got to make the money, gotta make the baconnnn," Nick sings, grinning delightedly as Harry blinks stupidly up at him. "Wake yourself up Harry Styles. Wake yourself upppppp-"

"You're the worst thing that ever happened to me."

"-I loooooove you toooooo," Nick croons, grabbing the ends of Harry's hair and dancing them over Harry's face. "I'll seeeee yooooouuuu later! Don't forget to walk Pig!"

He kisses Harry right on the forehead, then smacks his lips over Harry's twice. Nick leaves in a flutter of cologne and scarves and more lyrics, about millionaire popstars in bed wasting the day away.

The front door clicks shut behind him and Harry is alone.

 

He misses the easy sunshine of LA in an absent way, forgetful. It's easy to love London but it's easy to hate, too. It's cold when he goes out but not the kind of cold Cheshire used to bring him when he walked to school in the winter. London cold gets under his coat, in through his socks, shakes him up. He's always undone by London, never quite right.

"Pig dog," he says, watching as Pig skirts around a tree on Primrose Hill. "You're good at advice, right?"

Pig blinks at him, soulfully. All dog's are amazing, but Pig is definitely the smartest of them all. Not that Harry's biased.

"What's going to happen, Pig dog?" He scratches under Pig's ears. It's warmer sitting on the ground than it was standing. He folds his legs up under his chin so he can rest on his knee, watching Pig sniff at the grass near his boots.

"What if she doesn't want it, Pig?" he asks, voice small. "What if she does?"

Pig licks his fingers and stares up at him.

Harry tries to picture it, his life with a little baby under one arm. Maybe a day like today but he's got a pram at his elbow and a little blond baby asleep as Pig runs circles around it. Tries to imagine himself changing nappies at 3am, making airplane noises to get his kid to eat mashed pears. One house, one life, no red eye flights because he needs a new location; permanence, commitment.

He can't see Nick in any of his fantasies and that, over everything else, is what scares him.

Taylor texts when he's getting Pig back through Nick's front door. She's tired from the park and immediately goes for her bowl in the kitchen.

_Are you free for lunch tomorrow?_

He thinks of the baby from before, blond with light eyes, green like his or maybe blue like Taylor's.

_I'm free. When and where?_

 

It's a tiny Italian place, impossibly empty for London at noon. One of Taylor's bodyguards sits at the chair closest to the front door. Harry thinks he maybe looks familiar, was one of the guys who snuck them into Taylor's hotel the night it all happened.

"Mr. Styles," the man says as Harry opens the door. He's got a shaved head and kind eyes. "It's nice to meet you."

"You too," Harry says, feeling stupidly disappointed for a second. He wants to remember more of that night, the night Taylor and he got horrifically drunk and made a baby.

Taylor's at a booth nearer the back. She looks soft and quiet, like a little rainstorm. Harry knows she isn't, knows she's a hurricane, but he likes to see this too. Likes that not everyone gets to.

"Hey," he says, unbuttoning his jacket as he nears her. She looks up at him with a tired smile. He goes to drop his jacket across from her, but there's already one there, purple and soft looking, and a black leather purse.

"Are we expecting someone else?"

"My mom," Taylor says, quickly. Harry's eyebrows rise. "She's in the bathroom."

"I didn't know she was in town."

"If I told you, you won't have wanted to come."

They both know it's bullshit, know that Harry would probably climb Mount Everest if Taylor needed something from him, even if he had to fight off a dragon on the other side.

"It's fine, just wish you told me."

"I don't have to tell you everything."

"Not everything, no," Harry says, his eyes dipping down to Taylor's stomach without permission. She tugs on her sweater. "The important things, though. I'd like to hear those, please."

"I haven't told her yet," she says, like she's been waiting to say it all day.

"You want to do it now?"

"I don't lie to my mom, Harry."

"Of course not, but you couldn't have done it when she was farther away from knives?" Harry asks, smiling softly when Taylor snorts. "She's going to stab my eyes out."

"She's not going to stab your eyes out."

"She's going to dissect me on this table, Taylor."

"Well I got an A in bio, so I'll make sure she doesn't do a messy job of it."

Harry laughs and Taylor smiles brightly for a second before her eyes get distracted behind Harry's back.

"Mom," she says and Harry takes in a breath, steadies himself. "You remember Harry."

Harry first met Taylor's mom approximately one million years ago, when Taylor had long hair and he had short hair. He was shaking when he first shook her hand, a careful, dimpled smile on his face.

He stands to meet her just as she smiles, the classic Swift shine in her eyes. "Nice to see you again, Andrea."

"And to see you, honey," she says, wrapping him up in a hug. "How are you?"

"Good," he says, smiling bright. Her accent throws him off, always. He knows Taylor's American and her mother is American, but he always expects mums to have the soft Northern lilt, like his own mother, like Eileen.

"I'm glad to hear it."

They sit, Harry next to Taylor and Andrea across from them. He was joking about thinking she was going to dissect him, but he can't imagine this lunch is going to go off perfectly. No mother dreams of being told their daughter had a drunken fuck with her ex and is now expecting.

"Good flight?"

"Lovely," Andrea says, smiling at Taylor. "They served the nicest salad! It had little shaved almonds in it and mandarin oranges."

Harry chuckles, can see Taylor smile next to him. "Sounds nice."

"Are you enjoying your time off, dear?"

"Yeah," Harry says, fingering at the side of his menu. "It's weird to not have a schedule, but I'm liking the, um, unpredictability."

Taylor gives him a look as Andrea nods along. "Oh, that's exactly what Tay's been saying. You both have been running yourself into the ground these past few years, it's so nice to see you on a break."

The waitress comes over then, with a big smile on her face. "Good evening, my name is Stella and I'll be serving you today. Can I start you off with some drinks?"

Andrea gets the iced tea, Harry and Taylor with waters. It feels insane to watch them talk and laugh like nothing's amiss, like they haven't been broken up for years, like it isn't odd that he's chipping in on Austin's issues with finding a place close to his work.

"And how is your mother, Harry?" Andrea asks. She pronounces his name like hairy, always has, and it makes him smile.

"She's great. Brought her out to LA a few times, but she prefers me here, I think."

"A mother loves to see her baby back at home," she says, turning to Taylor. "Speaking of which, when are you planning on being back in Nashville?"

"I don't know," Taylor says, eyes on her water. Harry feels his heart thump through his body. "It's been nice, staying with Ed. Haven't seen him much this last year."

Harry joined Ed for a couple weeks when he was traveling through Northern India. They met a man there who could play the guitar like a fucking fiend and spent an entire night requesting songs and watching his fingers. It felt weird, leaving Ed to go back to the sunshine of Beverly Hills, but he put up every postcard Ed sent him on his fridge, overlapping in places by the time Ed got back to London.

Taylor waits until they've finished eating before she drops the bomb.

"Mom, I actually had something I wanted to tell you," she says after Harry's been caught up on Andrea's treatments. "I wanted to tell you sooner, but it's not - easy. To talk about."

"Of course, honey." Her eyes are so understanding across the table. Harry subconsciously shifts back. He has a feeling no one is going to leave the conversation unscathed. "You can tell me anything, dear, you know that."

She glances at Harry, confused probably. He holds his breath.

"Well," Taylor says, slow. She's peeling the band-aid then, taking her time. "A few weeks ago I started feeling really sick. Was throwing up all the time. And I-"

"Did you go to the doctor?" God, she looks so concerned. Harry stares at his hands.

"Yeah, mom, but - I wasn't sick. I felt light-headed and weird and I wasn't sick but I threw up every morning for a week."

Harry hears a quiet little inhale. Mystery's solved.

"I'm pregnant, mom," Taylor says, small. "9 weeks."

Andrea takes a long minute to speak. "Are you… are you sure, honey? Have you been to see a doctor?"

Harry looks up to see Taylor nod. Her face is so pale. She looks so tired.

"Well." Andrea tries a hand at a smile. It's wobbly but it looks real. "This is exciting. A little earlier than you expected, but you and Calvin both want-"

Harry watches Andrea cut herself off, eyes flickering to his as if remembering he's there at all. Her face stills and then slumps, eyes desperate.

"Oh," she says, quiet.

Taylor takes a shaky breath in. "Yeah."

 

It's dark when they get back to Ed's. London gets ready for the night in bursts of street lamps and slicked down curbs. It was so quiet on the way back, nothing but the radio playing Ellie quietly in the background. All Harry can see when he shuts his eyes is Andrea's face when Taylor explained that she wasn't sure what she was going to do yet.

"Are you sure you don't want to invite her over?" Harry asks as he follows Taylor out of the car. "I can go home."

"It's fine." Fuck if she doesn't sound exhausted though. "Think she needs some time to think it over."

"Of course."

Ed's a romantic so his house is too, all sweeping porch and window ledges. It's sort of ridiculous but wonderful at the same time. He pulls open Ed's door for Taylor, watches as she ducks under his arm.

Out of habit he checks his phone. His background is Nick's face pressed up against his in a drunken selfie and it stirs something in his stomach. He needs Nick, desperately, in that second.

"I'm just going to-" Harry gestures to his phone, and the door. Taylor nods, taking off her scarf.

Harry steps outside, the porch cool against his socked feet, and makes a call. London's air is crisp tonight and nothing like the warmth of LA. He watches the branches on Ed's tree sway in the wind while he waits for Nick to pick up.

"Hiya," Nick says down the line, voice distracted. "Y'alright love?"

"I'm fine," Harry says. "How are you?"

"I've got about a million things on the stove," Nick says. Harry closes his eyes for a second, tries to picture Nick with his phone between head and shoulder, dancing around his kitchen. "Pig's been driving me mad, has decided she's finally going to be a real puppy and keeps barking at the squirrels outside. And now Scott's gone and messaged me that he's going to be early. Early? Imagine that."

"Horrible, that Scott."

"Don't I know it."

Harry sits down on the steps of Ed's porch. There's a gate blocking his house from the mean streets of London, but if Harry cranes his neck he can see the slow blink of a traffic light down the way.

"How was your lunch with Ms. Swift?"

"Good," Harry says, holding himself round the middle for warmth. "I got the alfredo linguini."

"Sounds amazing."

"It was okay." He thinks about Andrea's face again. "What are you making?"

"Full on roast," Nick says and then his voice disappears for second before- "Sorry, had to stick my head in the oven. What do you put in mashed potatoes to make them better, again? Onion?"

"Garlic, usually."

"Right, right, right."

Harry listens as Nick hums down the line, horribly off key. It makes something bloom up in his chest, something impossible to describe. His eyes feel hot and he closes them, brings his feet up a step so he can curl in more firmly on himself.

"I think I'm going to stay at Ed's tonight," Harry says awhile later. "Haven't seen him much and he says he's going to play something off the new album for me."

"Oooh, exclusive."

"Super exclusive."

"Record me some?"

"And break Ed's trust?" Harry picks at the fluff on his socks, clenches his toes so they don't freeze off. "Never."

"You like Ed Sheeran more than me."

Harry doesn't say anything. After a long minute Nick laughs.

"You're horrible."

"Am not," Harry says, biting his lip. His head is in a million different places but this, knowing he can make Nick laugh even when everything is up in the air is – grounding. Somehow.

"Ahhh, and the potatoes are boiling over. I've got to let you go, H."

"I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Mhm," Nick says and Harry pictures him frazzled in the kitchen, hair scattered up and over his head, glasses fogged up from the steam of the pots. "See you then."

Nick hangs up but Harry keeps the phone pressed against his ear for a minute longer. He exhales slow, watches his breath curl up in wisps of white and grey.

He's out there for long, too long. Taylor comes to find him with two mugs of tea. She sits next to him as he takes a sip. It's earl grey, just like he knew it would be.

"Okay?"

"Mm."

Harry look up at the sky and then over at her. She still looks tired, drained in a way she almost never is. Her eyes are so soft though, when they make their way over to meet his. Her smile is the only gentle curve on her sharp body – well. For now.

"Ed says he's on his way home now. Want to go back in, start a movie?"

"Maybe in a minute," Harry says, looking back up at the smoggy sky. He sees Taylor nod out of the corner of his eye.

Slowly, he leans over to rest his head on her shoulder. She kisses his forehead and it feels so good he feels his eyes close, feels his bones shift in place. Her long fingers comb through the hair at the back of his neck.

They stay out there for ages, until the tip of Harry's nose has gone red.

 

  
[ ](http://imgur.com/gDGhQY3)  


They watch Home Alone because it's Ed's favourite fucking movie and they've never been able to deny Ed anything. Even when they first split and things were awkward they'd always bite the bullet for Ed, schedule around parties so they wouldn't have to bump into each other.

"Fuck I love that movie," Ed says as the credits roll.

"We know you do," Taylor says from under Ed's arm. She shoots Harry a smile that he returns. "They don't make them like this anymore."

"They don't!"

"You just like it because you think the mum is kinda hot."

"I told you that in confidence, Harold. But speaking of hot mums, how is Anne?"

Harry hits Ed with a decorative pillow. Ed pokes him in the nose. Taylor laughs.

It feels so full for a second but then Ed's yawning, face turning as red as his hair for a minute. He shuffles Taylor out from under his arm and goes to stand.

"Grandpa."

"Got to be in the studio early tomorrow," Ed says, ruffling Harry's hair. "Can't all be megastars on hiatus."

Harry laughs.

"Grab any spare bedroom when you get tired," Ed says and then he's up the stairs and gone. "Love you."

"Love you."

"Love you, Edward."

It's quiet in his leave, the hum of the television and then the click of the VCR as the movie ends.

"Want to watch another?"

"We should probably talk."

"Okay," Taylor says, stretching out across the couch. Her feet nudge Harry's thigh. "What do you want to talk about?"

"You told your mum."

"Yes."

"Should I tell my mum?"

"If you want to."

"No, Taylor," he starts before taking a breath. "I'm not going to tell her unless we're doing this. I'm not telling her until you've made a decision."

Taylor nibbles at her bottom lip and looks away. The trees outside make geometric shadows across the windows.

"I don't want to pressure you," Harry says, slow so he doesn't say anything too stupid. "And I'll support you in any decision you make. But I need you to tell me. Whenever or- or whatever you choose to do."

"I think," Taylor takes a breath, looks at him. "I think I'm going to keep it."

Something blooms in Harry's stomach. "Are you sure?"

"No. But I don't think I could go through with it."

"It's not a bad thing, to do that," Harry says, feeling the flowers push up against his ribs, his heart, crowd around his lungs. "It doesn't make you a bad person."

"I know that," Taylor says, impatient, but her eyes are kind when they smile at Harry's. "But I've been thinking for weeks and I want to. I want to do this."

God. Harry closes his eyes and sinks into the couch. He lets Taylor's feet into his lap, holds them close to his stomach.

"Are you okay? With my decision?"

"Don't know what I would have done if you didn't want the baby," Harry whispers, eyes still hiding. "I mean I would have like, let you, obviously, and I would have been there, but fuck. Taylor. I want this so bad."

He opens his eyes.

Taylor nods. "It's not going to be easy."

"Fuck easy," Harry says. He thinks back to the first time they held hands, when he held back his swearing and poshed up his accent a bit, tried to be everything Taylor deserved. It took him ages to act like himself around her.

They stay still for what feels like hours, their hearts bouncing around like jackrabbits. Eventually Harry moves, stretches out along the back of the couch until he can rest his head on Taylor's stomach, arm across her hips. He listens so carefully for a heartbeat but all he can hear is his own in his ears.

"We have to talk more about this. We have to actually discuss things."

"It can wait 'til tomorrow."

A hand works gently through his hair. "Okay. Until tomorrow."

Somewhere in London a siren screams and a group of lads laugh their heads off. Harry tightens his bent legs around Taylor's endless ones, knees over knees.

"Hey."

"Yeah?"

She takes a second to continue. "I've always liked Madison. For a girl."

The feeling is back in Harry's stomach, blooming over his bones.

"Madison," he says, smiling into Taylor's stomach. "I like it."

 

Taylor ends up meeting with Cara the next morning for brunch and, though she extends the invite, Harry decides to spend the day by himself. Cara's a right laugh and he wants to hear about her trip to Thailand with Annie, but he needs to relearn his city.

He takes the tube to downtown, beanie over his hair, pulled tight in a bun, a hoodie of Ed's swamped over his shoulders, his tattoos. One man with square glasses and elbow patches gives him a look but Harry just pops headphones into his ears, the white ones that Ed had lying around.

It's cool by the river, the edge of winter poking into fall, and he has to brace himself against it. He walks along the path, stepping aside for tourists and trying his hardest to breathe. It isn't busy down this way, off season for sure. He puts on the playlist Niall sent him once, when they were texting back and forth at midnight in a hotel room in Argentina. Niall usually works within themes and this one is apparent immediately:

_I wish I had a river so long, I would teach my feet to fly_

_The river in your mouth is pouring out_

_Hold back the river, let me look in your eyes_

_Down by the river, I shot my baby_

_The rhythm of a younger heart, it leads just like a river runs_

The songs flow from one to another, a typical Niall mix of singers with guitars and beautiful lyrics. When he's at Nick's it's always aggressive hip hop and rap, though he's playing more pop music as the days go by. Taylor's phone is always packed with indie artists, bubble gum girls with killer voices and narratives with potential. But Niall is always classic, Springsteen.

Harry's sitting before he realizes. He yanks his headphones out of the jack and presses the phone to his ear.

"Styles!" calls Niall's familiar voice in his ear. "What's the craic, mate?"

The familiarity drowns him. Niall's warmth is like a life raft and he wants to get closer, wants to grab on for dear life and never let go. He wants Niall here, with him, so fiercely that his eyes prickle and it isn't the wind coming off the riverbed.

"Hey," Harry says, trying to smile so Niall can't hear the lump in his throat. "How are you?"

"I'm great - just had about four fried eggs. I love being home."

"Give Maura my best."

"Of course. You alright?"

"Fine," Harry says, fiddling with the gap over his knee. "I missed your voice."

Niall hums down the line. It's a weird feeling, missing the boys. He's never needed to, never felt their absence when a date was filled in on his calendar, even if it was a month ahead. He misses his second skin though, misses Niall's hands moving his fingers along the fret board, misses Liam smoothing down his sides, misses trying his hardest to make Louis laugh.

It hurt like hell to lose one quarter of his heart, but the transparency act is starting to get to him as well.

"How's Grimmy?"

"Insane, as per." Harry looks down at his hands, tries not to think about how he's going to have to tell Nick. "How's Selena?"

"Way too good for me."

"Always."

"Wanker." Harry laughs when Niall does.

He wishes he had something to say. He wants to tell Niall so badly, wants to say _father_ to him, wants to share this helpless happiness with someone else. But he can't form the words with his mouth.

"Anyways," he says eventually, when Niall's laughter has petered out. "I was honestly just calling to hear your voice. I miss you a lot."

"I miss you a lot too, H," Niall says and fuck, his voice is so soft. It transports Harry back to hiding under the covers in Mullingar, Niall's sixteen year old smile warming him to his toes. "I'm headed to LA soon, got a few things with Ellie. Let me know when you're about."

"Of course. Sure."

"Alright, well, I'll let you go."

"Love you, Nialler."

"Love you, H."

It isn't enough but it's all he gets.

 

A woman asks for a photo in Camden. She's pushing a stroller, hair up in a knitted headband, and her lipstick is smudged around her smiling mouth.

Harry pops a dimple for the picture and then pokes his head into the stroller, grinning down at the sleeping toddler.

"What's his name?"

"Amar," she says, fiddling around to put her phone away.

Amar's nose is pink at the tip and he's drooling out the side of his mouth. The sight makes Harry's heart pound loud in his ears, his stomach twisting up in knots.

He leaves Amar and his mother, popping in from shop to shop but not buying a thing. All he can think is _father father father_ over and over in his head. In February he was tweeting Taylor Swift lyrics as a joke and now he can't stop thinking about what it's going to be like when Taylor's as big as a house, their kid pushing up against her ribs.

London goes dark around him, cafes opening up their bars, women with briefcases passing him by on their way home. The loud pulse in his ears hasn't gone down. He tries to drown it out with more music, new stuff from Mikhil Pane, old stuff from Angel Haze. It doesn't quite work but it's fun to try, bleaching out the noise of the city for his own stuff.

His new boots are digging into his heels. His eyes are tired. All he wants to do is sleep in Nick's glorious bed, Nick's arms around him until he inevitable complains about being too hot and Harry has to survive on his own.

Thinking of the bed and hoping he's able to sleep in it tonight, Harry raises his arm to call a taxi.

 

Harry cries during Taylor's first ultrasound.

"And there are the baby's hands," says Dr. Kim, smile wide across her face. "It doesn't look like much yet, but your baby's growing every day."

"It's the size of a prune now, right?" Taylor asks, her voice small. "That's what I read in the book my mom gave me."

"About that size, yes."

Harry can't take his eyes off the monitor. It's a blurry picture and he wasn't really paying attention when the doctor pointed out where his baby's hands are but it doesn't matter. He wants sixteen copies of it. He wants to wallpaper his house with this picture.

"This is crazy," Taylor is saying but Harry's hardly listening, blood pounding in his ears.

He doesn't remember what excuse he fed Nick during breakfast, something about re-tracing London, getting pictures for the photography book he wants to get together. Nick is loyal to a fault, always believing the best in him. Harry's fingers twitch towards his cell phone. It would be so easy to call Nick and tell him everything. With this real, live, living human being on screen Harry feels like nothing can touch him.

He feels golden. Immortal.

"Can you believe it?" Taylor asks, meeting his eye. Harry's hand slips from his pocket. "This is insane. God. That's our baby."

She looks so beautiful. Harry shakes his head, shrugs.

"Mad," he whispers, looking back at the screen.

They leave the clinic through the back entrance, Harry's hair hidden under a snapback he found in his closet that Niall used to wear on the tour bus. It should feel stupid but it's worth it when there isn't a single flash as they slip into Taylor's car.

It's all worth it for the shiny print outs in Taylor's purse.

There had been more serious questions before they left. Taylor's veins were getting more noticeable over her torso, her stomach slowly ballooning out. The doctor warned her about gas, recommended eating more fiber. It made Taylor blush a little, but Harry just grabbed her hand and nodded a lot. He's gotten a lot of places in life by nodding knowledgeably.

And holding Taylor's hand made it feel real for a second.

"I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings," Harry says as their car merges into the London traffic. "But our baby just might be the best baby there ever was."

"No question."

Harry returns Taylor's smile. It's been nice, hanging out with her the last few days. Even if the circumstances have been a bit - out of the ordinary.

"I think we need a nickname for the baby," Harry says, looking away to look down at his hands. "So we don't keep calling it The Baby. It might be offended by that. And it's annoying to say."

"We could call it Prune."

"Perfect."

Taylor laughs, brushes her hair out of her face. "We could call it Christiana Yang."

"That wouldn't be confusing at all."

"Nope."

"You know you really need to start watching other TV shows. This is just getting sad."

"You probably want to call the baby Fleetwood, so shut up."

Harry lets his eyes grow wide. " _Stevie_."

Long nails dig into his shoulder - "Ouch, I'm kidding, I'm kidding."

"We're not naming the baby Stevie."

"A little jealous, love?" Harry asks, feeling his lips tug up. "It was just the once, god, she came onto _me_."

"Shut up," Taylor says and then she freezes. She warms up slowly. "Love."

Harry blinks, waits for her to continue.

"Hi, love," she says, one hand on her stomach.

"Really?"

"Your daddy is really dumb, love."

"Hey," Harry says, drawing it out. He smiles, puts his hand just next to Taylor's. "Hi little love. I love you, little love."

"I can't believe we're doing this."

When Harry looks up Taylor's smiling. He's missed her smile these past weeks.

"I know," he says. "It's amazing."

 

It all falls down six days later.

They're cooking a stir fry, the spinach leaves wilting against the soy sauce at the bottom of the wok, when Nick holds onto his side with one warm hand.

"You free tomorrow? Daisy's hosting a thing. She's making those gluten-free cupcakes you love."

"I can't," Harry says. Nick's hand leaves him. "I'm um- Ed wants to try out some new stuff. Probably going out for dinner after."

"Been spending a lot of time over at Ed's lately."

"Um. Yeah."

Harry shuts the element off. He turns, watches Nick watching him on the other side of the kitchen.

"You've been off for a week," Nick says, taking a sip of his tea. He moves around the island and stands in front of Harry. "Want to tell me why?"

Harry lets out a breath and feels the rest of him leave with it. Hands shaking, he twists them together, the nail of his right thumb digging into the loose skin between the fingers on his left hand. There are still some of the cookies he baked last week in the Tupperware by the spice rack. Harry wishes then that everything could go back to that moment, go back to the ease of Nick's arms around him, soft flour coating his jeans.

Nick grabs either side of his face with his thin, gentle fingers. "C'mon, love. Out with it."

His breath sounds too sharp in the still air and Harry wishes he could stop breathing for a minute so he can hear himself think. He stares at Nick, tries to get his fill of freckles eyes lips before he's opening his mouth and-

"Taylor is pregnant."

It's an eternity before the silence is softened again. Nick doesn't move an inch, long fingers still grasping at Harry's face. Every cell in his body tries to memorize the feeling, the warm touch of Nick's hands on his, tries to remember every second Nick's ever touched him.

The moment breaks.

Nick looks away and nods once. He lets go of Harry. He walks out of the kitchen, into the hall, and after a mausoleum silence the front door clicks open and shut.

 

Nick comes back late, when the curtains are drawn and Harry's finished the bottle they were going to have with dinner.

Harry makes space on the couch for him but Nick perches on the edge of the coffee table, arse over a copy of NME. He's still got his leather jacket on, scarf around his neck.

Harry's not the only one who knows how to run away.

"Pregnant?" Nick ask eventually, soft like it is under the covers.

"Yeah," Harry says. He doesn't look up from his hands.

"When did you..."

"Find out? Two weeks ago, I guess."

"Two weeks?"

Harry wants to clear his throat but he knows the noise would be like a gunshot in this room. He swallows around the frog in his throat.

"When did you two-?"

"Months ago. Like, July."

"I thought she had a boyfriend."

"She did. Does."

"Fuck," Nick says and then he's laughing. "God, I envy him. I really do. How fucked up is that, Harry?"

Harry swallows, unsure. He doesn't want to look at Nick, doesn't want to see him upset.

"I can't be mad. I can't be mad at Taylor for getting pregnant, fuck, it's not like this is what she had in mind. And it's not like you owe me anything. And yet I want to rip off the wallpaper with my bare hands - shit."

"You're allowed to be mad at me."

"What, for getting Taylor pregnant? Fine, I'm mad you got drunk and knocked up your ex. I'm mad about that. I'm mad you couldn't find a fucking condom. I'm mad you put red peppers in my omelette yesterday because I don't like them."

"Don't joke, Nick."

"What do you want me to say?" Nick says, standing up then. His voice is getting higher pitched, prepping for a row. "Do you want me to throw something? Want me to ask if she's taking her prenatal vitamins?"

"I don't know, fuck."

"Well I don't know either."

Harry looks up. Nick looks exhausted. His jacket is half off his left shoulder and he's got a hand in his hair, tugging until it goes horizontal. Harry knows if he tucked his face into Nick's neck it would be flushed and damp with sweat.

"Things were just making sense, Nick," Harry says and he hates how his voice cracks because it sends shrapnel through the room. "We were finally doing what we fucking dreamed about for years."

It's so stupidly quiet. Harry wishes he put on the radio or the television, anything to distract from Nick's shallow breaths.

"They call them dreams for a reason," Nick says after a long minute.

He shakes himself. Harry searches his face for anger, for tears and cracks in the armour. But he just looks tired.

"I'll be at Daisy's," he says and Harry closes his eyes. "If you need me my - I'll have my phone on."

 _I always need you_ , bubbles up on Harry's tongue but he pushes it down. Nick's too much for that, deserves more than shitty song lyrics.

"Nick," Harry says, hoarse, before he walks out. "You can't- I know you won't but you can't. You can't tell anyone. She doesn't want anyone to know yet."

"Of course," Nick says. He opens the door with one hand, glances back at Harry. "I'll see you later."

 

He sits in the dark living room for too long. It's only the flash of his phone that gets him to move, hovering over the screen

Harry swipes it open, reads the new message from Sarah (PA): _House is ready and food's delivered. Let me know if you're still thinking of selling. Have a good weekend!_

It's been ages since he's had a good cry and he prays for tears now but there's nothing. Nothing but this fear and this goddamn guilt eating straight through him.

 

Harry hides out at Ed's house. It's too loud at Nick's, the stillness of his possessions offset by the radiators and the crunch of the ice in his fridge and the rumble of cars on the road outside. There's not even Pig to bite gently at his socks, so he packs up a bag and sends Nick a quick text. Nick doesn't reply.

It would be better for him to go to Ben's, take up his refuge in the attic until Nick cools down, but he already misses the feeling of Taylor's stomach under his hands. How small it feels, how massive it feels.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not right now." Harry pulls the comforter Ed lent him up and over his ears. It's soft against his cheek. "Just wanna sleep."

"Of course," Ed says, pushing Harry's hair back from his forehead. Everyone always touches Harry's hair. "You know you're always welcome here, yeah?"

"I know."

"Hey, H?"

"Mm?"

"What's going on with you and Taylor?"

Taylor's out tonight, drinks with Sam and Ellie and every other person within a hundred foot radius. She collects friends like Nectar points.

"What do you mean?"

Ed hums the song under his breath for a minute before he cuts himself off with a laugh. "Fuck, stop that. Tune."

"He's such a prick though."

"Obviously," Ed says, then sets his hand over Harry's neck. Robin did the same thing a lot when he was younger, a little encouraging squeeze at the neck. "I'm not an idiot, H."

"It's not my story to tell."

"You sleeping together again?"

"No."

"Haz..."

"Honestly, no."

"We can all remember how poorly things ended last time, right?"

"Yes, Edward."

"I went through a lot of 3am phone calls and identity crisis with both of you. I don't have the energy for that shit anymore."

"I know."

"The world's heard enough about your torrid love affair for a lifetime."

Harry laughs. He sort of feels like crying. Just this morning he found himself humming a melody, jotting down _I love my love_ on the grocery list before crossing it out.

"Your encouragement is what keeps me going in this unstable economy."

"Go fuck yourself." Ed stands at that, giving Harry's hair one last pet. Harry watches him from the bed, not moving his hands from under his chin.

"She has a boyfriend, Harry," Ed says just like he's said it before.

"Does she?"

"It's complicated."

Harry bites back a sharp jab. He knows Calvin and Ed get on, has never heard a bad word about him from anyone but Rita. Harry's only spoken to him once or twice in person and both times have been fucking awkward, Harry on his best behaviour and Calvin with a smirk and Taylor hanging off his arm.

"Everything's complicated," Harry says, eventually.

"Just don't do anything stupid," Ed says as he leaves the room.

 

Stupid himself arrives the next morning.

Harry comes out of the ensuite shower to voices in the foyer. He took the bottom floor guest room the night before which in hindsight he's not sure is the best possible outcome or the worst.

"You said you wanted to talk."

"I did. I do."

Their voices sound weird together, deep Scottish brogue and Taylor's flat American. Harry puts his jeans on as quietly as he possibly can.

"I've said I'm sorry a million times. You know I'm not good at this, but I want to try, Tay. I want to be better for you."

"It's not enough to just say it."

"I know that." Harry slips on a shirt Ed left out for him. It's got Ed's face on it and a list of tour dates on the back. "That's why I want to be here. You and me, together. I don't want to throw all of this away over something I can change."

"It's amazing to hear you say that. It's - it's complicated."

"Nothing's complicated about you and me."

 _You and I_ , Harry corrects mentally.

"The situation has changed."

"Taylor, I love you. That hasn't changed. That's not going to change."

"I love you too."

It's quiet then. Harry thinks about them kissing, thinks about their prune sized baby in between them. He closes his eyes.

"God, I'm so thirsty." Taylor laughs at that, bright. "I'm going to grab a glass of water. You want something, babe?"

"No, no- Calvin, there are still things to discuss."

"I know. But at least we can- whose shoes are those?"

Harry's heart jumps up into his mouth, rattles around his skull.

"What?"

"Whose shoes are those? Those boots?"

"I-"

"Those don't look like yours and I've never known Ed to wear fucking gold boots, so whose are those?"

She clears her throat. Harry stares unblinking at the wallpaper next to the door jamb. There's a face in the pattern, a wonky smile beaming up at him.

"Harry stayed over last night with Ed."

"Harry who?"

It's quiet. Then-

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"Calvin-"

Harry takes that as his cue. It's not smart, definitely, and there's a good chance he's going to get punched in the face, but it's better to show himself than wait for Calvin to find him.

He goes for nonchalance as he enters the kitchen. They're in the living room, standing with two feet between them next to the couch. Harry gives them a little wave.

"Hey," he says and then coughs. His voice sounds crumbly. He grabs a banana off Ed's fruit bowl, turns it round to peel. "Calvin, nice to see you."

Calvin stares at him steadily before looking back at Taylor.

"What the fuck is going on?"

"It's-"

"-complicated, I heard," Calvin says, and then he drags his head back up. He's got scruff all over his chin which Harry's always felt is just unnecessary. "Morning."

"I'll leave you two alone," Harry says, making his way out of the kitchen. "It was nice to see you again, Calvin."

Calvin doesn't even acknowledge him. "What is going on Taylor?"

"Can you sit down?" she asks, and when Harry looks up from sliding on his boots her eyes are shiny. "This is a sitting down kind of conversation."

"Hey," Harry says, and Taylor's eyes snap to him. "Is everything okay here?"

"Yes, Harry," Taylor says, face tired, sweater huge over her shoulders. "You can leave now."

Harry's never been one to not take a hint. He gives Calvin a last wave and is out the door.

 

Meredith makes sheppard's pie so it's late by the time Harry comes back into Ed's. He kicks off his boots at the door, slides his coat off, and walks into the kitchen to see Taylor at the table.

"Hey," he says. "You alright?"

She looks up and he stops short. Her eyes are red and swollen around the rims.

"Oh."

"He broke up with me," Taylor says, voice all croaky. "Not that I blame him."

There's soft music playing over Ed's home speakers, the sister group from Watford telling him to _go wisely and slow_. He takes a few steps to the sink, fills up two mugs with water. One is from Loose Women, the other emblazoned with _I Heart Budapest_.

He slides the Loose Women one to Taylor and sits next to her at the table. Her hair is in a little bun at the back of her neck, sloppy and loose like she's been pulling at it. The joggers she's got on curl over her feet; they're Ed's.

"He's an asshole."

"He isn't."

"He is," Harry says, not looking at her. He sips his water.

"He has every right to be mad at me," Taylor says, her voice coming out clearer now. "I cheated on him. I'm pregnant with someone else's kid. Not even someone, _you_. He hates you."

It's not surprising. "That doesn't mean he's not an arse."

"I'm going to bed-"

"No, Taylor." He turns to her, hopes he looks more sure than he feels. "If he really cared about you, he would be here. You're going through the hardest thing you might ever go through, and for him to make it all about himself? That's ridiculous."

She looks back at him, steady. Silence helps the words sink in.

"Actually," she says, but there's a smile at her lips. "I think he's kind of in the right here. Maybe."

Harry tries to put himself in Calvin's shoes. "Maybe."

"Maybe."

"Still. Not inviting him to the baby shower."

Taylor's laugh is quiet and short, but he still counts it as a win.

 

Nick calls him back on a Sunday.

"Hi," Harry says, pressing the phone to his ear hard. He's out on Ed's porch swing in the back, hands tucked into his jumper, and his heart is fucking racing. "Nick, hi."

"Hi."

"How are you?"

"Fine, fine," Nick says. "Where are you staying? Or did you finally move into the house that actually belongs to you?"

"Never, um. Ed's."

"Right," Nick says, quiet. "Of course."

Harry pulls at his lips, picks at the skin there. Ed and Taylor are out with Andrea before she leaves tomorrow. Ed had extended the invite but Harry would have declined even if Taylor hadn't been begging him to with her eyes.

"I miss you," Harry says, because he does and he knows he shouldn't say it.

"I miss you too."

"Things got pretty fucked between us, didn't they?"

That gets Nick to laugh at least. Harry smiles into the curled up sleeve of his sweater. "You popstars never make life easy on me, do you?"

"Where would the fun in that be?"

"Exactly."

Ed's backyard isn't very big but there's a slender tree that curves over from his neighbour's, scattering the grass with brown leaves. They're the kind that crunch when Harry walks over them in shoes. If Pig were here she'd be munching on them like she used to munch on Nick's Gucci boots.

"I want to see you," Harry says, looking at the tree. "Can I see you?"

"That's probably not a very- good idea."

"Can I see you, Nick?"

"Yes."

Harry blinks away the dryness in his eyes. "Wait. You're serious?"

"I've thought a lot," Nick says, then snorts. "I know, I know, sound the alarm. Deejays aren't meant to think, just press buttons."

"What have you been thinking about?"

"You didn't ask for this," Nick says. Harry curls into himself, strains to hear over the wind. "Taylor didn't ask for this. And I can't be mad at you for wanting to be a father."

"I'm not choosing Taylor over you," Harry says, quickly. "I don't have a choice. This is my kid, I mean. Fuck, Nick."

"I understand."

"Really?"

"Well, not at first." There's some banging on Nick's end, a bark or two for good luck. Harry can feel his smile go stupid. "And I know you told me not to tell anyone and I was doing really well at that but then I started losing it. But don't worry, Daisy's not going to tell anyone. I told her if she did I would accidentally post a picture of her making out with someone on Instagram."

Harry, who knows it's not the time, can't help but ask: "Who's the someone?"

"I can't say. Best friend clause."

"Damnit."

"Anyways, she knocked some sense into me. And I figure that I've spent a lot of time missing you over the years but this time you're not in Brazil or New Delhi or- or Arkansas, so there's really no excuse."

"God," Harry says. He looks up at the grey sky, just in case there is something up there. "God, Nick."

"So. You doing anything right now?"

"Not a thing."

"Wanna come over?"

 

Nick answers the door in pajama pants and glasses.

"Oh," he says in a bored voice. "You again? I thought I was calling a different H Styles."

"I missed you."

Harry watches as rose blooms across the tops of Nick's cheeks. "Why wouldn't you. Right."

It's easy, then, to nudge Nick back through the threshold and against the hallway wall. It's even easier to slide their lips together.

"This okay?" Harry asks, one hand already sneaking up the back of Nick's shirt.

"I suppose," Nick says, sighing.

 

Harry still has the house in North London and he visits it after spending two nights at Nick's. The place is immaculate, not that it's ever been messy. Harry hasn't spent enough days here for it to get that lived-in smell. It's beautiful, sleek like the kind of place he always dreamed of living in, but it's not what he wants anymore, not really.

There are peppers in the fridge, ground beef in the freezer, so he sets out to make tacos. It feels odd, cooking without people around, so he toys with his phone, tries to think of who's in the city. If he were in LA it would be nothing at all to round up a couple friends for a night in. It's harder in London.

Harry's just about to text Austin, a guy he met through James who takes amazing pictures, when his phone lights up.

He's smiling before he presses the phone to his ear. "Hey."

"H!" Niall says from the other side of the world. "How are you?"

"Good, good." He flips the meat over, taking a step back to lean against the counter. "What time is it over there?"

"10. It's non-stop sunshine. Bloody unnatural."

"I miss you," Harry says through a laugh. Niall's never been at home in sunshine. He likes farms and rain, like a true Irishman. "What have you been up to?"

"On paper I'm working on a lot of projects," Niall says, his voice fading in and out. "But in real life I'm mostly working on my sunburn and trying to get Selena to not break up with me."

"How's that going?"

"Could be worse." Harry glances across the room, looks at the frames in his living room, the same photos that are up in his sunny house in LA. "I've got to ask though - what's this I hear about you and Ms. Swift?"

Harry rolls his eyes. "Who's telling you what?"

"Ed," Niall says, quickly. "Selena. The Daily Mail. Liam texted me about it and if Liam knows the entire world does, mate, come on."

"There's nothing to tell."

"I heard you're getting married and I'm going to be the best man."

"Lies and slander."

"The Daily Mail wouldn't lie Harry."

"Oh no, we're getting married but Li's best man," Harry says, grinning into his thumb. "He's the most responsible out of you lot."

"You're a cruel man, Styles."

"Sure, sure."

Niall hums. If Harry closes his eyes he can almost pretend that they're back in that hotel room in Manila together, when everything was so up in the air. Harry was passed out over Niall's duvet because he didn't want to sleep alone, and Niall played Dots on his phone until Harry had to take it out of his hands and beg for sleep.

Harry's had to sleep with all of the boys at some point or another. Louis hogs the blankets and drools over everything. Liam is a cuddler, which is nice, but he almost always wakes up with morning wood which is not so fun when it's poking Harry in the bum. Liam's also slow to wake in the morning, which means Harry's been called _babe_ and _Soph_ too many times to count. Niall doesn't sleep much and when he does it's fidgety. He gets stroppy when Harry's limbs are everywhere or Harry's hair is in his mouth, which is unfair because Harry can't help it.

Zayn and he slept like puzzle pieces. They both sleep like the dead and sometimes they'd wake all cuddled up and all Zayn would say was "alright babes?"

But Harry doesn't think about that anymore.

"So you're still with Grimmy?"

Harry closes his eyes, smiles. "I'm still with Grimmy."

"How's he doing?"

"He's great," Harry says. He shuts off the element for his ground beef, gets the little bag of tortillas out of the fridge. "He's training for this thing for Comic Relief? I wasn't really listening when he gave me the whole rundown but it sounds pretty intense. He's sore all the time and yesterday he made me make him like, three smoothies. My fingers hurt from chopping all that fruit."

"Sure, that's why your fingers hurt."

"Was that- was that a joke, Niall Horan? Did you just make a sex joke at me? What would Bobby say?"

"Shut up," Niall says, laughing. Harry wants to feel that laugh against his cheek, misses it. "Aw, shite, I've got Eoghan coming round the house at half past and I haven't taken a shower yet."

"Of course," Harry says, but then, because he can't not - "Why were you calling, anyways? Did you need something?"

"Nah," Niall says. His honest drawl is probably Harry's favourite sound in the whole world. "Just wanted to catch up. It's weird not seeing you every day."

"It is weird."

"Miss the band. Love the freedom but, I don't know. Miss it."

"I love you, Nialler," Harry says, because he knows. "Talk to you later."

"Love you, H."

The dial tone is harsh in his ear. Harry sighs, slides his phone back into his pocket. He looks around at his big empty house and hates it, suddenly, with everything he has.

He makes a taco, sits down on his fancy leather couches, and texts Ed.

 

"Those tacos you promised better be real," Ed calls as soon as he's halfway out of the car. His hair is tucked under a beanie that Harry is ninety nine percent sure is his. "I didn't come all this way for no food."

"I don't lie about tacos, babe," Harry says from the front steps. His toes are curled up on the cold stone. It's chilly out, the wind coming up under his jumper, but he's always hated waiting for the doorbell to go. He loves seeing people before they've had time to smooth down their hair.

Taylor gets out of the car after Ed and Harry can't help but relax at seeing her. It's not been long since he has, three days at the most, but his mind wanders when she's away. He worries about their little, fucking _prune_ when she's gone or, as his daily pregnancy update tells him, his little lime.

"Hey," he says, kissing her cheek quickly as she trails up the steps. She's in a baggy shirt over leggings and he wants to touch her stomach so bad.

She smiles back.

"Food," Ed calls from behind her, bumping his shoulder against Taylor's. "I was promised food, Styles."

"Alright, alright, don't have a cow…" Harry says, as he pulls open the front door. "Well. This is it."

"You should pay your cleaning woman more."

"Don't I know it."

They kick off their shoes and then Ed's ambling over to the bathroom across the hall, claiming that he has to _pee like a racehorse, Haz, fuck_.

"Why don't you use this place more?" Taylor asks as she pushes herself up to sit at the island in the kitchen. "It's so beautiful."

"I hate being alone, I guess," Harry says, shoving his keys and wallet and phone into the little dish his mum gave him as a housewarming present. "And I've known Nick's place longer, so it feels more like home to me."

"Makes sense."

"Oh hey, actually," Harry says, rooting around in the third drawer down from his utensils. "I made you a spare key, if you want it. I mean, I know you're staying at Ed's and you have a million friends here, but if you ever need to just chill out somewhere-"

"Thank you," Taylor says, standing up to take them out of his hands. Harry nods, swallowing tightly when she smiles at him.

Most of the time he doesn't really notice the age gap between them but other times he feels so fucking young around her.

"How was your mum's flight?"

"Fine," Taylor says, drawing shapes in the marble counter-top with her finger. "She didn't want to leave. She never does, but. Especially now."

"How do you feel? The um, the internet said that you could be getting leg cramps. Are you - are you experiencing leg cramps?"

Taylor tilts her head very slowly to the side. Her smile is quick and sharp, like a sweet fox. "No. I'm okay."

"Good. That's good."

"I was a bit sick this morning but I think that had more to do with the fact that Ed made me get kippers at breakfast. I don't even know what a kipper is."

Harry laughs, feels his lungs flood with it. Taylor laughs with him and for one second it feels so easy.

Then Ed's coming out from the bathroom, heading straight for the stove top. "This looks amazing, Haz."

"Thanks," Harry says. He looks at Taylor for another second before blinking, moving away to where Ed is. "Hopefully it's all still warm enough."

"I'm sure it'll be great."

They pile their arms with plates and the toppings and lay them out on the coffee table in front of Harry's television. It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to find the remote control, switching it to the football as soon as he does.

"Sports?" Taylor asks, dropping a spoonful of guacamole onto her taco. "Are you trying to assert your masculinity or something?"

"Why, is it working?"

"Ugh," Taylor says, laughing. She adds a blob of salsa and folds it up, messily. "If we're going to do this can't we at least watch an interesting sport? Like football?"

"This is football," Ed says, ducking when Taylor's hand comes to smack him.

"You're not funny, Sheeran."

"I'm a little funny, Swift."

Harry grins around his taco, swallowing the bite. It's been years since they could be like this, stupid jokes and delicious food. The last time they hung out proper since before this all happened was a few weeks before Taylor and he broke up the first time. They met up at Ed's parents house and spent the whole night playing board games. They each got to pick a song at a time and Harry can remember watching the two of them argue over who loved James Taylor more, Taylor tucked under his arm as he munched on popcorn.

"Do you want anything to drink? Ed?"

"Beer?"

"Sure. Taylor?"

"I'll go with you," she says, standing up and sticking her tongue out at Ed. "It'll be nice to get away from this buffoon."

"Eh, you love me."

Harry grabs Ed's beer from the fridge and picks up a second for himself. He's not a massive beer guy, likes to stay in shape and doesn't love bubbles in his stomach, but he figures it's appropriate for a night-in.

Taylor pours herself a glass of water over the tap. "I think we should tell him."

"Hm?" Harry says, popping the lids off the bottles. "What?"

"I think we should tell Ed. Tonight."

"But-" Harry bites his lip, looks over at Ed in the living room. There's a spot of sour cream next to his lip and he hasn't even noticed. "Won't it make everything - weird?"

"I don't lie to Ed, Harry," Taylor says, eyes going sharp. Harry thinks about his pregnancy app, thinks about that one line that mentioned _mood swings_. "He's my best friend."

"I- okay. Okay, whatever you want."

"Great," she says, and walks out of the kitchen. Her hair swishes behind her like a curtain, a really nice curtain. Lace, or something. He's never going to not find her beautiful.

Ed has the television switched to BBC One when he sits back down. "What's this then?"

"Attenborough," Ed supplies, taking a sip of his beer. "Cheers."

"Hey Ed," Taylor says as she settles down into the corner of the couch. Her hand grazes over her stomach before she pulls it over one shoulder. "I need to tell you something."

Ed thumbs at the remote until the volume is on quietly. "Is this about Calvin?"

Harry tries to disappear into the sofa between them. He can't imagine he's going to make it out of this unscathed.

"What?" Taylor's voice climbs up higher than usual. "What are you talking about?"

"Did you two break up?"

"Y- yes. We did."

"I'm sorry," Ed says, and then he's reaching a hand over Harry's lap to touch her arm. "That's never easy. And I know you thought that the two of you were really going somewhere."

"I did but- that's not what I have to tell you," Taylor says, tugging at her sleeves. The top of her cheeks are red like cherries. "It's part of the reason why Calvin and I split, actually."

Ed's eyes turn to Harry so quickly it's impressive. Harry sinks a bit further down into the sofa.

"God, this doesn't get easier the more times I say it," she says, closing her eyes. "Okay. Okay, I should just rip off the band-aid. Rip it off. Rip it off. Rip it - I'm pregnant."

"Shut up," Ed says, immediately, and then backtracks. "No. What? No. You're joking."

"I'm not."

"You're joking."

"Ed!"

"You can't be pregnant, there's no way," he says, eyes growing wider and wider. He stills suddenly. "Is this why Calvin left? Because you're pregnant?"

"Um."

Harry does not take his eyes off the guacamole. He'd literally rather bleach his face off than look up right now.

"What a dick!"

"No, that's not it-"

"I'm going to go kick his ass," Ed says and he shifts like he's actually going to fucking do it.

"It's not his," Taylor says loudly. "Calm down, Ed, fuck."

"I don't understand," Ed says, his voice on the very edge of a freak out. He sounds like he did when sold out Wembley three times. "I do not understand. Who's the father?"

"Well," Taylor says, sounding on the edge of something unpleasant. "Here's a hint."

Harry feels a sharp thwack on the side of his head. "Ow!"

"Thanks for jumping in!"

"You seemed to have it under control."

"No," Ed says and then he starts laughing. "Fuck no. No, you wouldn't. You fucking wouldn't. This is a joke. Haha, great joke. No, seriously, great joke."

Harry looks up. Ed's eyes are crazed. He looks over at Taylor. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes narrowed, hands clenched at her thighs a bit. He looks back at the guacamole.

"Believe me," Taylor says, annoyed. "It wasn't my first choice."

That stings more than Harry would like it to.

"You're joking. I'm being pranked, I'm…" he trails off. Attenborough continues to talk about the African parrot at a quiet volume.

It takes a couple minutes for Ed to accept it all.

"How far along are you?" he asks, not looking at either of them. If someone were to walk into the house at that moment they would find three international popstars staring at various condiments, the room's vibe stilted and awkward.

"11 weeks," Taylor says. She's gone soft again. Her arm brushes Harry's.

"So this happened awhile ago then," Ed says. His eyebrows are probably doing that thing they do when he implies something.

"In New York," Harry says, and then he clears his throat because it's gone rough from misuse. "It happened a couple weeks before you got back from Australia."

"It wasn't an- an affair," Taylor says. "It was one night. A lot of drinks were involved."

"I've heard this story before," Ed says, an inch too real to be funny. "It doesn't usually end in pregnancy though, just another number one song."

"I Wish You Would," Harry says, under his breath. "Have Remembered the Condom."

Ed snorts. Harry braces himself for another smack but gets Taylor's giggles on his other side instead.

"Fuck," Ed says after he's laughed it out. He puts one hand over Harry's back, warmth spreading through Harry's body. "I can't believe this. You two are having a baby."

"Yep."

"Wait, wait," he leans forward, catches Harry's eye. "Is this why you and Grimmy called it quits?"

"What?" Taylor asks. "You and Nick broke up?"

"We sorted it out," Harry says, hoping he sounds more confident than he feels. "Nothing to worry about."

"Good," Ed says, tipping his head against the back of the couch. He closes his eyes.

"It feels good to tell you," Taylor says, smiling a small smile at Harry. He winks back. "It's always weird keeping secrets from you."

"Yeah, yeah," Ed says, flopping a hand around. "I know, I'm fantastic. Can I be godfather?"

 

"Holy shit, H."

"There?"

"There, there, there-"

Harry thrusts harder, arms shaking as he holds himself up over Nick. Nick's breath is harsh underneath him and it hits his chest softly, curling around the sweat and cooling it. He drags a hand down to hold Nick's hip steady.

"You're killing me, Styles."

"Not what you were saying earlier," Harry pants between thrusts, closing his eyes. He hasn't gone like this in awhile, was so preoccupied with getting fucked his first weeks back that he forgot how amazing doing the fucking is.

"Death, Harry Styles," Nick says. He's tugging himself off with one hand and it's unbearably hot. "You are sending me to my death."

"What a way to go."

"You're not funny."

"I'm hilarious."

Nick comes at that, his face gone slack. There are three freckles in a little line on the right side of Nick's jaw and Harry presses his lips there. It's his favourite spot on any body, except the swell of Taylor's stomach. They're tied, maybe.

"God, Nick," Harry says, biting at his lip. He's close, just needs a minute more.

"Hurry up and come, Styles," Nick mumbles, eyes blinking lethargically. "I've got people to see, you know."

"Give me one - nghhh."

"Ah, there's the money shot."

Harry holds the condom as he pulls out, head dipped down to rest on Nick's chest. He knows he should get out, grab a flannel to wipe down the worst of it, but he stays where he is. It can wait. The world can wait.

"That was good."

"Mm," Harry says. He's the one that's always a bit useless immediately after sex. "Was great, babe."

Nick, who has never been silent a minute in his life, continues on, "So, um. Are you going to another doctor appointment with Taylor soon?"

"Jesus, Nick."

"What?"

"I haven't even caught my breath yet."

"I was just wondering, god."

Harry blinks his eyes open. "I don't know. She's got another appointment next week."

"Good. Cool."

"We don't have to talk about this," Harry says, his breath almost back to normal. "We really don't."

"It's okay. I want to."

"Nick, if you aren't okay with this, I'd understand. It's a- weird situation."

"I'm fine with it. Really."

Harry pushes himself up and off Nick's chest, drops to his side. Nick turns slowly and then they're facing each other like lovers do. Harry can't help but reach a hand out, run his fingers down Nick's sternum.

"You can tell me anything," Harry whispers. He's pretty sure it's true.

Nick inches closer, knocks his nose against Harry's like they're sharing secrets.

"I'd rather have you like this than nothing at all," Nick says and then he's brushing their lips together.

 

Harry's hands are still warm from creeping up Nick's jumper when he finds Taylor on his couch. He hasn't seen her since the night with Ed two days ago and he's missed her and the baby. It's dumb.

"Hey," Harry says, dropping his coat over the ottoman in the front hall. "What are you doing here? Did we have plans today?"

Taylor shakes her head. She's only in a t-shirt, one of Ed's big hoodies next to her on the couch. The light blue fabric of the shirt stretches tight over her bump, just jutting out between her hips. The sight of it makes something flutter in Harry's chest, not quite pride. He doesn't vocalize it, for fear of getting a smack upside the head.

"You want a glass of water?"

"No."

"When's the last time you had one?"

"What?" Taylor looks annoyed now, eyes narrowed up at him. "When did you become Mama Swift?"

"You're supposed to drink lots of water, Taylor."

"I've peed about sixteen times today, I think I can wait on the water for a minute."

Harry knows the look in her eye and feels his bones go weary at it. Sure enough-

"We need to talk, Harry."

"Now?"

"Yes now," Taylor says, shifting a hand over the back of her neck. Her hair's up in a little ponytail, her face clear of anything but a brush of foundation. "We need to talk about what we're going to do when I'm more - visible."

"Right," Harry says, swallowing. "Did you tell your publicist?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"There's no way around it," Taylor says, voice dull like she's reciting. "I can't hide a bump and I can't hide a child. It would be better to go clean about it, say the first word rather than confirm a rumour. Or so they tell me."

"Okay. And would I- are you including me in the equation?"

"Of course." Taylor's eyes flash at him, a warning that he can't change his mind now. "If you want to be apart of our kid's life you have to be apart of everything. Even this."

Harry nods. "Looking forward to it."

"They're going to have a field day."

"Oh yeah," Harry says, laughing at Taylor's small smile. "We never stood a chance."

She looks down, interlocks her fingers. Harry wants to reach over, wants to pull her hands into his lap, but he doesn't know how fair that is when he can still taste Nick on his tongue.

"We also need to figure out where we're going to live."

"What?" Harry looks up from Taylor's hands and meets her eyes. She's always had the kindest eyes. "What do you mean?"

"It's nice to visit Ed but London isn't my home. I'm going to be going back to New York soon."

"Oh."

Harry hadn't thought of that. He hadn't thought for a fucking second that he won't be able to continue this, that his child might grow up with an American accent, surrounded by rich New Yorkers rather than posh Londeners.

"There are just so many questions we need to answer, you know?" Taylor says, gesturing around with her hands. "Are you going to come with me when I go back to New York? Are we going to raise our kid there? Are we going to raise our kid together?"

Harry looks up at that. "What are you saying?"

"I'm not saying anything, I'm just asking a couple questions."

"Do you not want to raise our child together?"

Taylor takes a deep breath. "Look, I never thought it would be like this. I never thought I would sit at home while the boy who knocked me up kisses his boyfriend, okay? I didn't think this is what it would be like."

Harry flushes, looks down. Fuck. He's fucked this all up.

"I want this kid to have two parents, Harry. I want that."

"That doesn't mean we have to get married and have a four bedroom in Jersey," Harry says, trying not to grit his teeth. "There's no such thing as traditional families, that's a load of shit."

"So what do we do? You get our child in the summer in London and I have them for the school year? You'll fly out over Christmas break?"

"I don't know, Taylor."

"I know we don't need the picket fence," Taylor says and fuck she sounds hoarse, seconds away from crying. "But I want it sometimes. I want the house and I want kids who aren't going to resent me for this."

Harry takes a long breath in through his nose, lets it settle in his lungs.

"I want you to have those things," he says, carefully. "I want you to have everything."

"I don't need you and Nick to like, shit I don't need you to sabotage your relationship just because I did," Taylor says. "I just need some answers. I need something more concrete than 'we'll figure it out'."

He reaches over then, grabs her hands. They're clenched tight around each other but they relax into his lap as he strokes over her long fingers.

"We're going up to visit my mum tomorrow," Harry says, slow, mind racing. "We can talk after that. About everything. Okay?"

She's slow to nod. "Okay."

 

He's always been so stupid for Nick. Harry's had dreams of it, presenting his heart to Nick on a silver platter, beating in an uneven staccato because it loses its fucking shit whenever Nick is around.

Harry has everything he could ever want but all he's ever really wanted was to be able to hold the whole world in his hands. If he had it, now, he thinks he'd give it to Nick. He'd get down on his knees, hands tied up behind his back, and he'd wait with his head bowed while Nick decided if it was enough.

The ropes would dig into his wrist and his shoulders would scream but he'd keep his head down, legs splayed, until Nick cupped a hand around his chin and put their foreheads together. Only then would he smile.

 

He makes up his mind in about three minutes.

 

"I'm really sorry, Nick."

He knows he's crying, knows his nose is snotted up and his eyes are swollen. His mum once told him that when he cries his eyes go translucent, shiny with wet and huge, bright like the moon.

Nick nods. His mouth is pressed together firmly.

The first time Harry cried around Nick was when he had just broken up with Caroline and his body was stuck in guilt. He choked on tears for so long he almost got sick, and Nick just held him round the waist, scrunched up his hair at the ends, and whispered over and over again _it's okay, babe, it's going to be okay_.

The second time he cried in front of Nick was months later, when the sun was red and hot. Harry, sprawled out under Nick, one leg around his back, heel against his tailbone, face pressed up tight to Nick's neck as Nick's fingers spread him apart. His tears bled into the hair at his temple, tracks shiny on his face as Nick made him promise that he was fine before he fucked his fingers a little faster.

Harry thinks about the whole wide world, thinks about whether or not Nick would take it now.

"You deserve everything and I want to be the one to give it to you. But I can't."

"Thank you for stopping by, Harry," Nick says, taking a step forward to get Harry to take a step back. Harry doesn't move.

"I'm going to be a father," Harry says and Nick stops herding him for a second. "Nick, I'm going to be a dad."

When Nick looks up his eyes are carefully blank, mouth tense.

"You can come pick your stuff up tomorrow," he says, one hand reaching past Harry to rest on the side of the door. "Safe drive."

"I wanted this Nick," Harry says, trying to get the words in his head out right. "You're the best part of my life. But I'm going to be a dad. And I can't- I'm not choosing her over you."

Nick looks up, his eyes blinking quick. "I know."

"I'm so sorry," Harry whispers.

"It's the right thing to do," Nick says and it almost sounds like he believes himself. "I was stupid for thinking it could go any other way. Tell Anne I say hello."

Harry wipes his coat sleeve across his face. He wants to memorize every second of this moment in case it's his last with Nick; the mat at the door, the freckles on Nick's lips, the smell of Nick's cologne, always a bit too strong, in his nose.

Too soon he's stepping back outside. Taylor pretends not to notice the dampness on his face when he climbs into the car.

 

By the time they're pulling into Holmes Chapel it's nearly nightfall and Taylor has to pee.

"Blake says I'm lucky because I hardly get morning sickness," she says, peering at the houses down the main streets, the ones Harry spent his childhood running in and out of. "But I'm really getting sick of peeing all the time."

"Maybe you can get one of those pee bags that patients in hospitals get."

"It's a good thing you're pretty, Styles."

Harry laughs.

He turns down the music as he makes the left onto his road. Taylor still makes mix CDs like it's 2008 and this one has an obscene amount of Postal Service on it, as per. Such Great Heights will forever transport him back to a New York hotel room and Taylor's horrified face when he told he'd never heard it.

The porch light is on for them. It takes Taylor a minute to slide out of the car door and Harry wants to put an arm around her, help her to the house, but he doesn't know if he should. Doesn't know if he's allowed.

"It's always so quiet here," Taylor says, looking around as they walk up the drive.

"Never changes."

"I love that about it." When Harry looks up Taylor's smiling.

It takes Harry's mum a second to control her face when she sees Taylor next to him at the door. Harry had only said we once during the phone call and she must have assumed he meant Nick.

"Hello," she says, giving Taylor a hug, smile bright. "My son never mentioned you're visiting as well!"

"Men," Taylor says, shrugging her shoulders. "Sorry but I've needed to use the washroom since we left that Starbucks an hour ago."

"It's just down the hall, to the right."

"I remember," Taylor says, smiling, kicking off her Keds and jogging to the toilet.

Harry goes in for his hug then, hooking his chin over his mum's shoulder. This is all he's really wanted since Taylor told him.

"Anything you need to tell me, honey?" she asks, her hands so warm against his back.

"We're not dating again," Harry says because it's the easier answer.

He stays nestled up with her, feeling so small and warm.

"You're awfully tall to be my baby," Anne says in her sing-song voice. She used to say it whenever Harry would get in a mess, mud on his face or flour in his hair. She'd pick him up under the armpits and give his nose a tug, smiling like she couldn't help herself.

Harry hums, lets his mind wander. He wonders if it's going to feel like this. If he's not going to want to let go either.

Taylor gets out of the toilet as Harry's taking off his boots. She smells like the pomegranate soap his mum buys in bulk and pours into smaller bottles.

"I haven't been here in so long," she says, putting her bag down on the stairs. "Are those Brit Awards on the mantle?"

"She keeps them for me."

"My mum has my first Grammy."

"Ugh, we get it, you have Grammys," Harry says, smiling when Taylor laughs. "C'mon, mum's making tea."

Robin's at the kitchen table with a tablet but he stands when Harry walks in.

"Nice to see you, H."

"You too. How's Rooney doing?"

"I'd rather not get into it now." Harry laughs as Robin leans over to hug Taylor. "It's lovely to see you, Taylor! How've you been?"

"I'm good, really good," she says and then the tea's out on the table and Anne's sliding a packet of biscuits along with it.

It's home and God it feels good. He loves knowing what's in each cupboard, where to find the mugs.

"Are you both staying the night, then?" Anne asks as she piles their mugs in the sink.

"If it's no trouble."

"Of course not. I only set up your bed though, H." Her eyebrows climb up a bit. He replies before her mind can wander too far.

"Taylor can take Gem's," he says, dropping his voice to a whisper, leans into Taylor's shoulder. "It's nicer anyways."

Taylor laughs but her look is calculated. Harry shakes his head slightly, hopes she gets it. They can wait until the morning.

His room is the same as it's ever been, except for an absence of the Frankie Sandford poster that used to go over his bed, which was taken down after Nick had one too many brandies after Christmas pudding a couple years ago.

Harry's just slid off his jeans when there's a faint knock on his door.

It's Taylor. "Hey. Can we talk a second?"

"Of course," he says, poking his head out of his sleeping shirt. Taylor sits at his headboard, lying back on his pillows so he sits across from her, hands stretched behind him, legs crossed.

"Fuck, this room takes me back."

"I know."

"I hardly knew you then," she's saying, eyes on the photos Harry's had pinned up on a cork board for a million years. "You were larger than life. Felt like the luckiest girl in the world when you showed me around this tiny town."

"Going down on you on this bed was pretty fun too," Harry says before he thinks too hard about it. "Uh, sorry. Probably shouldn't have said that."

Taylor just flushes a bit and clears her throat. She's gotten a lot more comfortable with her body than what she used to be when they first started up, but she's still not as outspoken about sex as he is. Once, when she was really drunk in LA, Taylor told him she envied the way he and Cara talked about eating girls out. He thinks about it a lot, if he's honest.

"I just wanted to talk about this," Taylor says, jolting him back into the conversation. "I think we should- God, I know this is weird. I'm not even sure if I want to say what I'm saying but - I think we should try. To see if we could be proper - like, parents."

Harry breathes in as quietly as he can. "What do you mean?"

"We dated before," Taylor says. She looks him in the eye, looks away, looks back. "We've been in love before. Maybe we should try again."

Harry thinks about Nick and his stomach cramps up. He stops thinking about Nick.

"Who are you thinking about when you say this?"

"What?"

"I mean, are you saying this for yourself? Are you saying this for our kid? Or is it your mom?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It's just that she seemed pretty shocked when you told her we aren't together."

"She's a little old fashioned but - I'm not saying this for her. I'm _not_."

"We don't need to be together to raise a child."

"No?"

"My parents are divorced, Taylor."

"I know," she says, looking down at her fingers over the plaid blanket on the bed. "But your parents didn't raise you together, Harry, your mom raised you."

He bites his lip. "Families come in all shapes and sizes."

"I'm not saying we need to get married tonight," Taylor says, face red with anger? Embarrassment? "I just thought that if we're both single we should at least try. For our baby's sake."

Fuck. Our baby sounds pretty right coming out of Taylor's mouth.

"I want to," Harry says, slow, realizing he's already copped this up a bit. "I've always wanted to, Taylor. I just think it could blow up in our faces."

"It probably will," she says, shrugging. "But I think it'd be stupid not to try."

They sit, staring at each other, for a long minute. Harry makes the first move.

Her kiss is exactly as it's always been. A warmth spreads through Harry's chest, settling his heart and prickling the hair on his legs. Taylor's hands are long through his hair and when he puts his own hand on her neck she shivers.

They kiss until Taylor pulls back to yawn. It feels weird to pull away, feels wrong for the overhead light to be on. Harry hasn't kissed Taylor with the lights on in years.

"Okay," Taylor says, voice shaky. "That was weird."

Harry shuffles back a bit more. "It's too soon."

"Yeah," Taylor says, nodding. She pushes off the bed, one hand just over her stomach. "I'll see you in the morning, yeah?"

"Good night."

She shuts the ceiling fan off as she goes, the only light coming from through the windows. He watches her leave, hears her pad down the hallway to Gemma's room. The room feels empty in her absence. There's a bookshelf full of One Direction merch from over the year, towering over his position on the bed. A Harry with swooshy hair and cherub dimples smiles at him.

Harry pulls the covers up to his ears and tries his hardest not to think about Nick's face when he walked away. It's not easy.

 

Winter breeze greets Harry when he steps onto their porch the next morning. He stuffs his left hand in his Packers hoodie, his right tight around a mug of tea. Holmes Chapel is sleepy and sparkly with a thin layer of frost. It's beautiful.

"You're up early."

"Wanted to see the sunrise," Harry says, shooting a smile over his shoulder.

Anne pulls back the blanket on the swing seat they haven't taken down yet, gesturing for Harry to sit. He does, leaning against her. Her face is tired and curious when he meets her eyes.

"I love having you home, H, you know that," she says, jostling their shoulders together. "But if there's something going on between you and Taylor- just tell me, love. I'm not going to get upset."

"It's- complicated."

"Okay," she says, rubbing his back. He could donate every penny he's ever made and still not deserve his mum. "Is it about Nick? I thought you were back together with him."

Harry clears his throat. "That's complicated too."

"H."

The neighbour across the street wanders to the end of her drive and picks up a newspaper in a little plastic bag.

"I don't know how to tell you."

"Nothing you say is ever going to change this, darling."

Harry thinks back to Andrea in the restaurant.

"Taylor's pregnant, mum."

Anne doesn't say anything for a minute and Harry doesn't look up, eyes on their neighbours' house. He doesn't usually think like this, but he'd really love to sink into the earth now, stop living for a couple days.

"You're the father," she says, even though she already knows.

"Yeah."

The still air curls around them, pushing frost onto the windows above their heads and creeping in through their socks.

"Are you happy?"

Harry turns to catch her eye, desperate to see what she's saying. Her face is so careful, like when he skypes her and mentions a girl she's never met.

"I think so," Harry says after a moment.

Anne links their fingers together, her soft hands and manicured nails snug against his. When he looks up again she's smiling, eyes wet.

"Does Taylor like waffles?" she asks, blinking just too slow to catch a tear before it slides down her cheek. "I was thinking of making them for breakfast."

"Taylor loves waffles," Harry says and it feels like he's saying so much more.

She pulls him to his feet.

They make waffles.

  
[ ](http://imgur.com/pwQ7KVC)  


The bakery is the same as it's always been and Joanne packages them up a dozen muffins to take back to Anne's before they have to make the long drive back to London. Taylor's eyes are wide as she takes in the town. It's pretty with it's orange leaves and grey skies. Harry can't imagine calling anywhere else home.

"I remember this bench," Taylor says when they're walking outside down the main road. "I totally remember this bench."

"I remember that bench too," Harry says, smiling at her. She's so fucking weird. "I used to sit on it when I was stumbling home drunk from Johnny's. One time Mrs. Crowley saw me here and stopped to ask how my mother was. It was horrible."

"Stop ruining the bench memory for me."

"What's your bench memory?"

"It was the day before my birthday," Taylor says, eyes all dreamy like Gemma's used to when they were playing with dolls together. "And you gave me the tour of Holmes Chapel, and it was snowing a bit because it was a magical day, and we were sitting on this bench and you'd just said something nice, I don't remember, it wasn't important-"

"Thanks."

"-and this adorable old woman walked by," Taylor swallows to continue, because she hasn't taken a breath yet. "And she had this red handbag? Big glasses with jewels along the sides?"

Harry smiles. He remembers now. "Ms. Trutski."

"Yeah, yeah." She slides hand across the back of the bench. "And she walked by and told us we were a beautiful couple. And I just loved that."

"Ms. Trutski used to shoot pigeons in her backyard."

"Stop!" Taylor cries, covering his mouth with her hands. "You're ruining the pretty memory."

Harry uses a Louis Tomlinson classic, licks his tongue out. Taylor's hand drops immediately, eyes narrowed.

"You're gross."

"You're an older sibling," Harry says, shrugging. "Us younger siblings have to adapt to our environments more quickly. You wouldn't understand."

"Let's just go-"

"No, no, let's sit." Harry grabs her wrist, tugs on it until she looks at him. "Really, I want to. Let's sit."

They sit. The town will be putting up light's soon, round the trees down the main road and over light posts. Harry used to volunteer for that at school, spent one memorable November night freezing straight through his mittens, waiting for Emma to finish up with the tinsel round a store front so he could go home.

"Do you think it's stupid, getting back together?"

Harry doesn't look at her, keeps his eyes on the slow moving traffic down the road. "I don't think it's stupid. It was just - a lot for me last night."

"I wasn't thinking, I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

"Was it that serious between you and Nick?" she asks, and he glances to see her fiddling with her fingers. "I thought it was just a friends with benefits thing, you know? I didn't know it was that - big."

Harry thinks about telling her the truth. He smiles instead. "It wasn't, was just a thing that's been going on for so long. I'm not heartbroken or anything."

"You sure?"

"I think we should get back together," Harry says. He looks at their feet, angled at one another. She's wearing trainers because her ankles are swelling up a bit and because she never likes to wear heels around Harry too much. He's not quite the sasquatch Calvin is.

"Okay."

"Maybe not full pelt, right away," he says, then reaches out to grab her hand. She's the only one he ever held hands with. "Slow. See if it works. Take it step by step. Sound good?"

Taylor has a very unnerving stare when she wants it, cool blue eyes looking right through him. He squeezes her fingers.

"Sounds perfect," she says.

They wait on the bench a minute more, looking out at the little town. The same as all those years ago but so different. More awards, more fights, more hair on Harry's part. And somehow they kept coming back to each other, Harry still as in awe with the loud girl and her guitar as he was when he first got to kiss her goodnight, stomach tight with nerves.

They sit. They wait. They breathe.

 

They get back from Holmes Chapel late.

It's dark inside Harry's house, cool shadows cast across the hallways walls. He doesn't turn the lights on, prefers to take his boots off by the door, waits for Taylor to take off her own, and then feels for her hand in the darkness.

Her hand is long fingers and rough callouses. He leads her to his bedroom.

This part he knows, can't forget, won't ever forget. She's silvery in the moonlight, something from another world. He's allowed to unbutton her blouse, allowed to kiss over the top of her breasts, rounding out like everything on her body is rounding out these days.

"Is this-"

"Yeah," she whispers in reply, fingers sliding through his hair. He doesn't remember sitting but there he is, on the edge of the bed, her stood in front, curled around him.

Her stomach is there, soft and smooth, so he kisses it until he can't anymore. There's a darkish line running vertically down it, something the doctor warned them about in their last visit. He runs his mouth down it, up, down again, and then places a single kiss over the button of her jeans.

  
[ ](http://imgur.com/0J2XfoW)  


Their breath is the only noise in the room. Taylor's hands have gone still in his hair, stopped their gentle tangle. Harry reaches a hand out, curves it around the bend of her thigh. "Do you want to?"

A second of silence. Then Taylor takes her hands out of Harry's hair, puts them to her jeans and unbuttons them. It's answer enough.

She goes on top for the first round, wet over his stomach, bra still on. It's always surreal for a second, seeing the girl he grew up listening to throw her head back at his fingers. He'll never be able to separate Taylor and Taylor Swift in his head.

"God, you're good at that," Taylor says. She pinches him when he can't help the smirk. "Shut up. God."

"It's my pleasure," Harry says, running his thumb over her clit. He wants to get his mouth on her, wants to feel the shiver of her legs around his head, but he can wait. There's time.

The condom is a necessary while part of Harry's mind is still caught on Nick's face when he left. It won't be, soon, if they don't want to. Harry can't remember the last time he fucked without a condom, never wanting to put anyone in that position. He slides it over himself, knows that she's never enjoyed the more technical aspects of sex. Try as she might, Taylor's always put sex and love together, hates when one interferes with the other, breaks the spell.

"You ready?"

"Mm."

God, she's wet, right, perfect. It's like a dream, sliding back into her. Harry can't help the noise, can't help closing his eyes for a second. She goes quiet, and when he looks up at her she's got her bottom lip beneath her teeth.

"Are you okay?" he asks, hands going to her waist, trying for gentle.

"It feels like-" she twists her mouth up, then opens it with a little noise. "Feels so different. With the whole- pregnant thing."

"Bad?"

"Good," Taylor says, and then she's moving. "Really good."

The shift and slide of their bodies is ritual. They've known each other's skin for so long, since Harry had a fringe and Taylor had only slept with one person. He remembers begging to go down on her, a weird, empty feeling in his stomach when she meekly asked _but why do you want to?_

They aren't them anymore. They've fucked in toilets and airplanes, fucked when they were both in relationships, fucked because they needed inspiration.

Harry reaches to unclasp her bra, slides it down her arms. He thumbs at her nipples slowly, gets a gasp and then a whimper. His hands move south instead.

She's wet around him, soft hair curling around his fingers as he slides his fingers around where they're connected. He knuckles against her clit, does it again when she whines. Her eyes are closed. He wonders if she's thinking about Calvin. He wonders if she knows he's thinking about Nick.

She comes with a silent gasp, mouth open wide, eyes buttoned shut. Harry rubs her through it, slips a nipple into his mouth and rocks up with his hips, gentle. He comes a minute later.

The bed creaks softly when he comes back from dropping the condom in the ensuite bin. She's naked on his sheets, legs spread like she's waiting for his shoulders, eyes half closed.

"That was good."

"Doesn't have to be over."

He watches her look at his mouth, bite at her own lip. She nods after a second. He slides down the bed.

It doesn't take much for her to come the second time. Caroline taught Harry everything he knows about giving head and he mentally thanks her every time Taylor's fingers pulls at his hair.

Her thighs are so gorgeous over his shoulders, slight and shaking. He uses his thumbs to hold her open, revels at the tickle of hair at his chin. She's usually waxed smooth but Harry supposes she may have had a thing or two else to worry about in the past month.

He noses at her clit, tongues at her cunt, sucks her folds over and over until she's pushing him away.

Harry wipes at the wetness on his face. "Was that okay?"

"Yeah," Taylor says, voice blown out like it is after a long show. "It was alright. I guess."

Harry grins, slow. "Happy to be of service."

"Shut up."

He laughs. He's exhausted, wears it in his bones, and she looks halfway to sleep. Before he moves, though, he bends carefully, presses his lips to her swollen stomach.

"Goodnight love," he whispers.

  
[ ](http://imgur.com/3KuYAho)  


Taylor's gone when Harry wakes up the next morning, a little note on her pillow saying _lunch with Sam!! be home later!!_ because she still writes notes instead of just texting.

He stares up at his ceiling for awhile. This might be a new record for his turn around time. He's never gone from one love of his life to another love of his life so quickly. There are pink marks on his arms and his stomach, indents from Taylor's nails, and it makes him feel used. Not by Taylor, and not by the act of sex, but just in general. It's fucking with his head.

Harry eventually gets up. There are cornflakes in the cupboard above the stove because Harry's PA is an absolute legend, so he munches on them while flicking through Twitter. Jack Whitehall has tweeted a throwback picture of the two of them from year ago and he tweets back a little smile, mostly so everyone knows he's still alive. He closes the app before the notifications come pouring in.

He has an afternoon date with Lux so he takes a shower in preparation for that, stands under his stupid expensive shower head for a ridiculous amount of time before he jumps himself into action. Gemma's shower gel of choice through secondary school was always pomegranate and Harry always borrowed-without-asking it. Now it's the only gel he buys, though his new one is a lot more environmental-conscious than Gemma's from Tescos was.

Lou recommended him this coconut oil shampoo to help with the hair situation so he scrunches that through his hair. As he does he notices a little container of soap in the back corner next to a purple razor.

It's probably stupid to get overwhelmed by a razor but he does anyway. There's still shampoo dripping down his face and it's threatening his eyes but he ignores it, staring at the fucking razor.

A Congo line dances past in his head: razors, more bottles of shampoo, tampons, a second toothbrush, a foundation brush next to Harry's face wash. And then soon after baby powder and diapers and adorable little footsie Pajamas. A life. A real one.

Harry scrubs the shampoo out of his hair but keeps his head under the spray for a good while. He'll come out, he thinks, rationally, when everything stops being so scary.

Lux is forever the cutest but even she can't distract Harry from the churning in his stomach. He's not sure he's even upset by the idea of a second razor in the shower? It wouldn't be his first time, can vividly remember snapping Kendall's straight in half after accidentally stepping on it during one of their ritzy retreats. The only problem he has with women's razors at all is how much less durable they are than men's. And yet his mind stays stuck on it.

On the way back from Lou's he lets his mind wander. The journey back from Holmes Chapel was long and boring, Taylor conked out in the passenger seat about ten minutes in. Harry set _Harvest_ on quietly and thought about the ring he had stored away in his bag, hidden in about eight pairs of socks.

Harry bites his lip now, thinks of the same ring still suffocated at the bottom of his bag. Great-grandmother's. Special. She's special.

He's two minutes from home when he makes up his mind. Harry spins the car into an illegal u-turn and parks at the Waitrose.

 

"And then Sam told me I was glowing right, so he asks what kind of moisturizer I'm using and I don't know what to say? What do I say to that?"

"I can't think of anything but 'I'm pregnant'."

"Exactly," Taylor says, twirling her fork around the linguine. "This is delicious, by the way. I said that already, right?"

"You did. What did you tell Sam?"

"That I was trying one of those new avocado masks, with paprika or something."

"You're swift on your feet."

"You've said that pun about four million times since I first met you."

"It'll never not be appropriate," Harry says, smiling. "More water?"

"Sure," she says, smiling. It grows into a grin a second later. "Hey, I just thought of something. Is this a date? This is a date isn't it?"

"You just noticed?"

"It's been a few years since I've had to sit through your brand of charm."

"This is a date."

"It's an alright date."

"I was hoping." He pours himself a glass of water, wishes it was wine, wishes that Taylor could drink wine although if she could they wouldn't be here in the first place.

"I know we haven't decided anything or anything," she says as she finished the last of the asparagus on her plate, sautéed to perfection. "But there's a really cool paintball range in upstate New York where Blake lives? I think it'd be really cool to do for Ed's birthday."

"Not while you're pregnant, please, I don't think I could deal with the anxiety."

"Of course not. Just. Talking out loud."

"You are aware I'm not American, right? I can't fire a gun. We aren't built the same way as you guys are."

"I've avoided dating Americans since the Kennedy," Taylor says, diplomatically. Harry laughs. "He had stars and stripes running through his veins. So, Brits are alright for me I guess."

"You guess."

"Mm. Is there dessert? And before you say anything, I'm eating for two."

"I would never. Apple pie?"

"You didn't," Taylor says, eyes wide as Harry walks out of the dining room and into the kitchen, bending to open the stove. He's been hiding it in here since she arrived. She has her hands over her face when he walks back in. "You did not make me apple pie."

"No?" Harry looks at the pie. "Well then I have no idea how this got here."

"Harry."

"It's your favourite."

Taylor's cheeks go a little rosy when he slips her plate in front of her. He slides back into his own seat, smiles at her and doesn't say a word.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What, Styles?"

"Eat your pie, Swift."

She requests ice cream halfway through, which he expected, so he retreats back into the kitchen to get her a little dish. He got the good shit, the fancy vanilla bean one that comes in the small packages. When he and Louis used to live together, Louis once ate two containers of peanut butter ice cream during one Manchester United game. Harry had to roll him to bed practically.

Harry fingers at the ring in his pocket before he enters the dining room. The lighting is low, his romantic playlist playing soft over the speakers. It's time.

"This is delicious, but pie isn't pie without ice cream."

"Sometimes I forget you're America's Sweetheart and then it smacks me back in the face."

"I hope our kid has your accent and my everything else."

"They'll be unstoppable."

She smiles around her fork, scoops some ice cream and skewers it with a load of pie. Harry tells his foot to stop tapping so incessantly and tries to breathe normally.

"Hey," Harry says. "I actually had a question to ask you."

"Mhm?"

"I know this probably will seem stupid," he says, then swallows. "And I didn't do it the right way. I mean, I was supposed to talk to your dad. But I don't have his phone number and I thought it would be fishy if I asked you for it."

Taylor stops eating her pie.

"Everything's been so fucked, lately, but I love you. I have since I was like, 18, and I don't think it's shut off. Maybe it can't. And I think that might be the same for you, and why the world keeps throwing us back together over and over again. There has to be a reason, don't you think?"

"What are you asking me, Harry?" she says, quietly. She's not looking at him.

Harry thinks of his mom, pregnant with Gemma and scared.

"Well," he says. His hand shakes as he gets the ring out of his pocket.

Taylor looks at it. She looks at him.

"No," she says, shaking her head. "No. No, you're joking. You're not serious."

"Taylor."

"No, no, no." She keeps shaking her fucking head. Harry puts the ring on the table, stares at it. He can't remember if he ever thought she'd say yes. "No, you're not doing this. Not now, not with apple pie."

"It makes sense."

"No it doesn't."

"Taylor-"

She's up, out of her seat. She still has the ice cream dish in her hand as she walks into the kitchen. A minute later Harry hears a loud smash.

He counts to six in his head and follows her in.

 

 

 

 

Harry rings Nick's doorbell eighteen times before he stops counting altogether. It's not raining but his hair is dripping down the back of his shirt and he can't remember why.

Nick opens the door on the four hundredth ring. He's wearing glasses and looks wrinkled like Harry's favourite old jumper.

"I'm drunk," Harry says because he feels it's important.

"Oh," Nick says after a second or a minute or an hour. Harry reaches out to touch Nick's face but just feels air. "You're here."

"Yes, yes, yeah, yes." Harry feels so warm. He wants to take off his socks. "'Scuse me, I need to take off my-"

He hiccups and loses the plot. Nick lets him into the hallway.

Harry kicks his boots off and waits for the scuffle of a pig but there isn't one. "Where is Her Highness this evening?"

"Sleepover at Cheryl's," Nick says, helping Harry get his coat off. He's the very best. Harry loves him so much. "She's wants to trial run a dog before she gets one- Fuck, Harry, what are you doing here?"

"You're so beautiful," Harry says holding onto the end of Nick's shirt. It's so soft. "We should fuck. We should totally- fuck."

"Enough of that."

"Please?"

"To the couch, come on."

Harry groans. Nick keeps moving his eyes around, staring up and down and all around before he looks at Harry. It's driving him crazy.

"Nicho _las_ , don't make me go on the couch," Harry tries to look up through his eyelashes but it makes his head wobble. "I'll be a good boy, I promise."

"Don't believe your promises."

"The best boy, really."

Harry steps closer and only trips a little. Nick's ear is so friendly, all dangly lobes and soft hairs and freckles in funny places. He puts his mouth right over it.

"I'll let you do whatever you want," Harry whispers, letting his nose wander into Nick's hair. It's getting long and curly again and it makes Harry's toes dance. "Tie me up, use my mouth, whatever, I'll let you."

Nick's hand comes to hold the back of his neck and it's less sexy and more motherly than Harry wishes. "You can stop that while you're at it."

"Taylor used my mouth the other night," Harry hears himself say as he leans away from Nick's ear and greets Nick's neck instead. "And it was so nice but god, she doesn't want me, Nick. Not properly, Nick. I haven't had cock in so long, Nick."

The hand tightens- "If you weren't drunk off your arse I would kick you out."

"No," Harry says. He wants to sleep now, maybe. "No, don't- don't do that."

Nick gets him to the bedroom slowly. The first few steps are okay but then Harry's mouth starts filling with saliva too fast and he feels like he's going to throw up. The moment passes but Nick still makes him sit in the toilet for way too fucking long with a glass of water, his butt cold against the lip of Nick's tub.

"Is that a new toilet cosy?" Harry asks at one point, his eyes gone blurry.

Two eyes blink at him through the mirror as Nick scrubs a flannel over his face. "Yeah."

"It's nice."

"Thanks."

Nick finishes up with his moisturizer and sighs. He stares at Harry for a long time while leaned against the sink, his glasses making his eyes big and tawny.

"To bed, I think," he says eventually, pushing away from the counter and helping Harry to his feet.

Sliding under Nick's sheets feels the same as it always has, smooth silk rubbing against the hair on his legs, plump pillows cool against his cheek. Nick puts his glasses on the bedside table and turns to Harry, eyelashes like spider toes in the dark.

"Not sure this is fair, Styles," Nick says hoarsely and suddenly Harry's eyes are wet.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay." Nick pulls the duvet up over Harry's shoulder and then leaves his hand there. Harry can feel the warmth through the layers. "Don't mix your alcohols next time."

"I'm sorry I fucked it all up," Harry says. "I'm sorry it couldn't be you. I really wanted it to be you."

Nick closes his eyes and nods.

Somewhere in London and ambulance screams. Harry shifts closer to Nick until they're sharing a pillow, Nick's warm exhales hitting his forehead.

"Good night, Nick," Harry whispers.

Nick's hand closes around his, where it's curled up under his chin. Their fingers fit together.

"Good night, darling," Nick whispers back. It's so soft and Harry's so warm, that it takes seconds for him to fall asleep.

 

It feels like there are fourteen thousand little toy drummers in Harry's head when he wakes up. It takes him several minutes to orient himself, mouth dry. When he places the ceiling and the silk sheets and the Eminem poster his mouth, if possible, goes drier.

"Shit," Harry whispers, holding a hand to his head. It's all coming back to him now. "Fuck. Fucking shit. Shit."

He has no idea where Nick is, can't quite remember if it's a weekday morning. The curtains over Nick's little window are so dark that he can't quite determine the time of day either.

His left leg throbs with his head. Logically, Harry knows that he probably hurt it while stumbling around drunk in North London, but he can't help but imagine himself bent down on it, practicing like an idiot before she got home. Stupid. She didn't even let him get that far. Shit.

It takes Harry a few tries to stand up and wiggle his jeans on. He's always been good at escaping before the other person wakes up and it's throwing him that Nick woke up first, watched him sleep for a minute.

Fuck, he's cocked this up.

Nick is doing a crossword when Harry walks into the kitchen. Harry knows that Nick thinks crosswords are for old people and little kid geniuses, so there must not be anything fun happening on Twitter.

"Hi," Harry croaks, staying in the doorway. He's not physically prepared for the bollocking he deserves.

Nick glances up at him, then back down. "11 letter word for a drunken mess."

He's going too fucking fast this morning. "What?"

"Harry Styles," Nick says, pretending to scribble it in. "That fits. That fits perfectly."

"I'm really - I'm sorry, about last night. I shouldn't have done that."

"No, you shouldn't have," Nick says, still looking at his newspaper. "This isn't your place anymore, Harry. This isn't where you find yourself after a night out. It can't be. It's not going to be."

Even when things were colder than warmer between them, Harry could always count on Nick's flat as a home.

"I understand," Harry says, head ducked.

"I don't think we can be friends anymore."

"I understand that too."

"Good," Nick says, coughing a bit at the end. "Do you want to talk about why you came here last night?"

"Not, um," Harry says, squinting up his eyes. He hasn't felt this rough since Liam's 21st. "Coffee? Need - coffee."

"There's a new pot."

Harry uses Nick's _Charlie's Angels_ mug for his coffee, thumbing over Lucy Liu's face to try and get the bit of paint that's been on it for years off. It never comes off but he always tries.

It takes half the cup for Harry to wake up.

"I asked her to marry me," he says, slow. He keeps his eyes on Lucy. "She said no."

"Of course she did."

"Yeah."

Nick moves across the kitchen, stands next to him at the counter. "Why did you ask her, Harry?"

Harry shrugs.

"Don't do that, you don't get to do that."

"My dad asked my mum, when they found out about Gemma," Harry says. "I don't know. It's what you're supposed to do. It's what Taylor's mom wants - I mean she hasn't said that, but I know she wants us to be doing this, properly."

"Properly doesn't mean marriage," Nick says. He takes a deep breath and Harry can almost feel it in his own lungs. "You don't have to have a marriage license to raise a baby. You know that, H."

"I know."

"Be smart about this," Nick says, and then he steps away. Harry can't help looking up, catching his eye. "I've got to take a shower. You can let yourself out."

"Nick I'm-"

"Sorry? I got that." Nick rinses out his own mug, doesn't make eye contact with Harry. "Don't come here again, okay? Don't do that."

Everyone in the world has mocked Harry for his shit answers at _what do you look for in a person?_ because he always goes with nice. Kind. But it's the only kind of person Harry's ever wanted. And god, does he want Nick.

"I won't," Harry says, and it feels so final. "Good luck with everything."

"You too. Send me a - send me a picture, when the baby's born."

Nick meets his eye, smiles. Then he's crossing the floor of the kitchen and slipping out. A minute later the shower goes on.

 

Taylor's on the couch in a little ball when Harry comes home.

"Where have you been?" Taylor asks, getting to her feet immediately. She looks pissed, and worried, hand curled around her stomach. "You didn't pick up your phone."

"No," Harry says, dropping his keys in the little dish his mom gave him. "I didn't. I'm sorry about that."

"If you want to be in a relationship, Harry, you can't disappear. You can't walk out when things get difficult. And I know that I was the one telling you to go, but you're supposed to come back. You have to come back."

"I know," Harry says. He's so tired. He just wants to sleep. "I won't disappear again, I promise."

"When we have this baby, you can't leave. You can't leave me to deal with everything, just because it's hard."

He goes to her, then. Her face is set, determined, but there's a tell in the corner of her eye. Harry knows his hands are probably still cold from sitting atop Primrose Hill for too long, but he cups her face anyways.

"I shouldn't have done it," Harry says, quiet to match the house, match their hearts. "I should have picked up when you called. I know I'm young and I know I make stupid decisions, but this - you and me, this kid? This isn't something I'm going to fuck up. Not anymore."

Taylor nods slowly, still looking at him like she's not sure who he is. But Harry can deal with that. He's dealt with worse.

"I want to move to New York."

Her face goes carefully blank, eyes searching him. "What?"

"I want to move to New York," Harry says, again. "I want to move into your flat. I want to paint the nursery yellow. I want to buy a crib. I want to do this."

"It doesn't have to be New York-"

"I want it to be New York." He loves London but he can't be here anymore. Loves LA, but can't deal with the sunshine right now. "It feels right, doesn't it? You and me, New York, our baby?"

Taylor's eyes close. "It feels right."

"We can leave whenever you want. Whenever you need to."

"Ed's having a dinner party tomorrow night," Taylor says. "I was thinking, after that? We can figure out how to move your stuff from everywhere."

"Sounds good," Harry says, smiling to show that he's okay. "I have a painting that would go really well in your bedroom."

She narrows her eyes. "My house is perfect. We don't need to change my house."

"I agree. I just think this painting would really bring some _zen_ into the space, you know?"

Taylor laughs. She curls her hands around Harry's wrists, keeping his fingers at her cheeks. "And you're sure about all of this?"

"I'm sure."

"You won't back out?"

"I won't back out."

"You think you can become a real New Yorker?"

"Bada boom, bada bing."

"Perfect," Taylor says, before she's kissing him.

They stay there, this moment washing over them, their baby between them hopefully cheering them on. There's a list of names on Harry's phone already, ones that came to him while he sat on the top of Primrose Hill today, eyes wet, wind whirling.

This is the right thing to do. It feels right.

"I'm sorry," she says, mouth still pressed against his.

"Don't be."

"Harry-"

"Don't be."

They breathe in each other a little while longer.

"Do you want to watch Monsters Inc?" Taylor asks when she pulls away, smile across her face. "It's coming on the Movie Network, and I haven't seen it in so long."

"I have to go somewhere, actually," Harry says, keeping his head close to hers. "But I'll be back tomorrow, and then we can start - planning the rest of our lives."

"You can't leave, we just went over this-"

"I'm not leaving. I'm not, Taylor. I just have to go somewhere. Just tonight. I promise I'll be back to make you bacon and pancakes and whatever else you want, tomorrow morning."

"Where are you going?" she asks, quiet.

"I'm not going to his place," Harry says. He closes his eyes, takes a step away from her, towards the door. "I promise. I promise I'm not going there."

Her breath is loud and shaky. "Okay."

"Do you trust me?"

"I'm trying to," Taylor says. She looks small, one hand on her stomach. "I'm trying really hard."

Harry nods. He closes the front door with a soft click.

 

Liam looks mostly asleep when he opens the front door.

"Haz?" he says, red eyes blinking languidly. His plaid bottoms burrow around his feet in bunches. "What's up? Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry for waking you up," Harry says and Liam knows his voice so well, heard it before he knew what Harry's favourite everything was, and something must sound off because his eyebrows crease like a blouse in concern.

"What happened? Who hurt you?"

Harry laughs and then he's crying. The tears are hot as he tries to blink them away, sniffing in hard. He's never been a pretty crier.

"I fucked up, Li," Harry says, laughing again. He wants to stop, wants to leave and let Nick climb inside him for awhile, wants to feel Taylor's stomach for kicks. "So, so hard."

"Come inside," Liam says.

He leads Harry in, past the modern furniture in the living room and the giant movie projector Harry's only seen in pictures. There are funny magnets on Liam's fridge, a poetry set that reads out _flowers end on your doorstep_ next to _poop head dragon bird_.

Liam's bed is warm and soft and the duvet is heavy when Harry slides underneath it, boots kicked off and trousers crumpled. He gets his head on Liam's chest and tries to match his breathing, follows the rise and fall of Liam's chest like the shake of a tambourine.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Not yet."

"Okay." Liam pets Harry's hair, thumb sliding over the tufts above his ear. "Whenever you're ready."

"Liam?"

"Mm?"

"Do you think I'm selfish?"

Liam takes a second. While he thinks, Harry skims his hand down his ribcage, miles of warm, soft skin. Harry always wished he fell for Liam. He had a dirty dream about him once, Liam holding Harry down against a kitchen counter while he fucked him so hard Harry's hips went yellow with bruises. Harry told Louis about it in confidence, and twenty minutes later Liam couldn't look him in the eye. It took them weeks before they could snuggle again.

"I don't think you're selfish," Liam says, voice measured and kind. "I think you're very ambitious. And you get caught up in everything sometimes, forget what's really important. But I don't think you're selfish, Harry."

"I am," Harry says, quiet. "I'm selfish."

"Harry-"

"I can't have everything."

Liam sighs for a long time. "I guess not."

Harry shifts his head so he's over Liam's heart, its booming beat heavy in his ears. Liam's arm comes around his back, gentle as it smooths over his side.

It's ages before he falls asleep.


	2. intermission

Taylor and Ed are arguing over the last nacho when the kiss cam cameras zoom in on their group, Taylor's hand on her stomach, Harry's arm around the back of her seat. 

Harry watches their faces on the screen, watches Taylor freeze, her cheeks blushing. He's careful to keep his smile bright and happy. He lets himself laugh, lets himself turn to Taylor and tug down the hands that are threatening to cover her face. He leans in and kisses her.

The arena erupts. It's the noise Harry sometimes hears when he falls asleep at night, 15,000 people screaming for him. Taylor smiles into his mouth and he into hers in return before they pull away.

 _Don't give away your hand_ , Taylor would tell him when they first started going out together, her stomach swelling under their watchful eyes. Tease. Make them think they know what you're doing and then pull the rug out.

The cameras move away. The mascot starts dancing on the other side of the court. Harry looks up at the screens up above and remembers being here for the first time, remembers how scared he was.

  
[ ](http://imgur.com/Jz4Td5x)  


"New York loves you," Ed says.

"And we love it," Taylor says. She smiles at Harry, her beautiful white smile bursting from her classic red lips.

He presses his lips against her cheek, grabs her hand. The players run back onto the court. Their names will be trending next to each other by now, like they have, off and on, for the last five months.

They fit the part so perfectly.

It was - a lot at first. People sort of lost it. The morning after Taylor went on _Ellen_ and announced that yeah, she had broken up with Calvin and oh, _by the way_ she was expecting a child with her ex-boyfriend, things kind of - exploded. 

They retreated to the country, in a manor of speaking. Harry had never spent much time in Rhode Island but it was incredible to stay with Taylor there, write songs by a different ocean and re-learn each other by the fire. They stayed there for a month, until things got less insane. It was definitely still a little insane though; there were new articles daily about their lurid affair. 

Not everything was bad. Liam rang him up at 3am in the morning to congratulate him. Louis sent a misspelt text. Niall met up with him for a round of golf, smacking him upside the head before giving him the world’s longest hug. 

Harry blinks. The screech of sneakers on shiny wood interrupts his thoughts. 

"This is fun."

"Aren't you glad we came?"

Harry sighs long-suffering, mostly just to see Taylor narrow her eyes a bit. "I guess so. It's alright. And the company isn't bad either."

"You love basketball."

"I love being away from that damn pillow of yours."

Ed laughs. Taylor points her finger at Harry accusingly. "I've caught you cuddling my body pillow a few too many times, Styles. I would watch your step if I were you."

"It's a monstrosity. A comfy monstrosity."

Taylor laughs, turns her head back to watch the game. Harry's never done the court side game before, never wanted to. He thinks basketball players are incredible athletes but he's never really gotten it, if he's honest. American sports are confusing. Except his Packers, of course.

Living in New York is everything that he thought it would be. It doesn't sleep, screams loud in his face at 3am when his legs are itching to stretch, Taylor huge in bed next to him. It's unforgiving and it welcomes his hung head with a hug. 

He moved into Taylor's place proper just before Halloween, spent an afternoon painting the walls of one bedroom a pale yellow. Harry loves the area for the children and dogs that run down the street at all times, and Taylor loves it for the bagel place around the corner that she makes Harry go to approximately eleven hundred times a day. He and Ali, the young tender who is studying to be a doctor, have gotten pretty close.

It's harder and easier to be themselves here. Paparazzi have nailed down their address and love taking pictures every time Taylor moves, it seems, snapping shots of her custom-made maternity dresses and glowing face. They're obsessed with Harry's late night outings. Their questions change depending on their needs, depending on how hot of a news week it's been. If there's been drama in the Kardashian house they joke that he's out to get some weird craving. If nothing much is happening they accuse him of going out to meet Kendall while his girlfriend and their unborn child sit at home. 

It reminds him of London, harsh rains and unhappy people, smelly subway and great restaurants. But New York is an escape, a getaway, and he's happy to bask in it's refuge. He's not quite a huddled mass yearning to break free, just a spoiled artist who's shut down his heart for the time being. 

The Knicks win by four (apparently). He's really not a basketball guy. 

A car picks them up from the arena and take them down to TriBeCa. Harry calls one of their favourite places before they leave and they pick up the pizza on the way by, Ed running in with a baseball cap over his hair with Angela, Taylor's newest security member, trailing behind him.

"I decree," Taylor says when they're back home, pizza box on the coffee table. "That there shall be no pregnancy talk tonight. Not a word."

"What if it's an accident?" Harry says, just to be annoying. "What if I'm talking about basketball, because I do all the time, and I say that a basketball is kind of the same shape as a fetus? Would that be okay?"

"I'm never talking to you again."

Ed switches on an old episode of Modern Family for background noise while they eat their pizza. It's real popstar pizza, the gluten free, vegan stuff Nick would veto whenever Harry suggested it. 

Halfway through an argument on Joni Mitchell's _Blue_ , Taylor puts her hand on her throat, face scrunched up.

"Heartburn?" Harry asks, already rising out of his seat. "Do you want water or your medication?"

"Medication, please," Taylor says, coughing a bit. Ed rubs a hand over her belly.

"Leave your momma alone, little one," he says as Harry leaves the room.

It's surreal, living in Taylor's apartment. He had only ever been a visitor here, usually as a friend surrounded by other party goers and once as a one-off, about a month before Taylor started falling for Calvin. It was a fucked up night, really weird, empty sex before Harry left to stay at Alexa's for the night. 

Her house is everything Harry's ever wanted his own places to look like, classy and impeccable. If his feet were less mobile he might have been able to, but he's always moving, never wanting to stay around long enough to build a nest. And now that he lives in someone elses nest it's interesting. Odd. 

The night carries on like it tends to with the three of them. Harry whines for fifteen minutes until they let him bring out the Scrabble board and then he beats them all. Ed plays them some new music which is great but also more than a little weird. Harry thought his break from One Direction would be full of writing new stuff. It's okay that it hasn't been but he misses it. Taylor's been writing, never seems to stop, and Harry's own journal is filled with his scribbles but for some reason he - can't. Yet.

"Bed time, I think," Ed says when it's just past midnight. Harry shakes the Scrabble board at him enticingly and he pushes Harry's face away with one hand. "You have a problem, Styles."

"You're just saying that because I beat you.”

Taylor needs help getting up the stairs. She's so big now and Harry can't help but laugh every time he sees her in profile. She's just so tiny everywhere else and then there's this huge beach ball sticking out between her hips.

"Next time you get to be pregnant," Taylor tells him as he gets her into the bathroom. There's a sheen of sweat over her brow. "And I can help you with simple tasks."

"Sounds wicked."

"You're just telling me what I want to hear."

"I love you too. Brush your teeth, come on."

"I'm pregnant, not an invalid."

Olivia is asleep on Taylor's pillow when he helps her sit down on the edge, hands gripping tightly to hers.

"If our baby is half as beautiful as Olivia we'll be so lucky."

"If our baby looks like your cat we'll have bigger issues than how beautiful it will be," Harry says. "Do you want left side or right side?"

"Right," she says, still holding onto Harry's hands. "Can I borrow your pillow? I don't want to wake Olivia."

"She'll just go sleep with Meredith and Ed, she likes him best anyways."

"Harry, please, I'm pregnant. I don't ask for a lot."

"You're not cute."

"I'm a little cute."

"I guess. Maybe."

He sets her up with his pillow, specially bought so his back won't be such a mess all the time. He stuffs one of the million other pillows that they throw off their bed every night under his head. It's not the same.

"You good?"

"I'm good."

Her eyes are closed. She looks heavenly in the darkness, soft cheeks and gentle swell.

Harry puts a hand out to feel the bump. "Good night, baby."

Taylor adopts her baby voice (which is fucking terrifying, he's had nightmares about it) to reply to Harry: "Good night, daddy."

"You need to stop doing that."

"Never."

Harry sighs, waits for Taylor to laugh a little before he smiles. He shifts across the sheets and presses a sweet kiss to Taylor's mouth. "Good night, baby."

"Good night."

Taylor's out like a light. She'll be up in a few hours to pee, but she's good at falling asleep. Their doctor's pleased about that, keeps encouraging them to get as much sleep as they can. When the baby gets here it'll be something else. 

There's an old clock hanging over the dresser they put their jewelry on and Harry watches every fifteen minutes pass. He gives up at two. It's slow, getting out of the covers without alerting Taylor, but he manages it. Harry slides his slippers on, a Christmas present from Andrea and Scott, and pads out the door. 

He doesn't want to wake Ed so he wanders into the library, shutting the door firmly behind him. It's more of an office really, books and records all over the walls in mahogany shelves. Harry drops into an armchair near the windows, grabs at his laptop, still perched on the edge of the side table since before the game. 

His fingers are moving over the keys before he's really aware of what he's doing. It's late here, the dark Wednesday skies of New York greeting him through the window, but the sun is rising over England. His mum might already have the coffee on. 

A second later, a voice is saying - 

"And that was new stuff from Duke Dumont. We like that one, don't we Fifi?"

"It's alright."

"It's alright, it's alright. Never gives a straight compliment does, Fi."

"Sometimes I do!"

"Oh sure, oh sure."

"You're just upset because I said your outfit was gross. Those trousers you've got on are hideous, to be fair."

"I had to get dressed in the dark. You don't realize how purple your pants are when you get dressed in the dark."

"Turn a light on next time."

"Had someone over. Anyways! The show! The show's going to be good today, I think. Monday was a bit, I mean it was a 4/10 I think. Not so good. But we're awake now, aren't we? We've had our breakfast rolls."

Harry looks out the window, watches New York. While it doesn't ever really sleep it sometimes slumbers. It's quieter than it was earlier, honks and beeps and sirens, sure, but the streets have slowed, the lights have dimmed. It reminds him of London, sometimes. Other days he knows there's nothing like it. 

Nick is talking about Katy Perry now, something about her recent engagement to that actor with the large nose, and Harry closes his eyes. 

He stays there in the armchair, listening to Nick, until New York wakes up.


	3. new york

Harry stands behind the blue curtain that hides him from the audience, and takes a long breath in. There are a million people rushing around him, all with fancy headsets and iPads in their hands. It's a familiar sight but he's been without it in the past year; his whole life has centered down to diapers and no sleep. 

He rubs his eyes. Fuck, he's tired.

"Commercial break is ending," a woman to his right says, one hand out at Harry's elbow. "You'll be announced on in just a second. Standing by."

Harry says thank you quietly, looks back at the curtain. It feels weird to be here and not at the apartment. It was Taylor's idea in the first place, sick of making statements and tweets. She wanted to do it the right way, whatever the fuck that meant.

"-I'm thrilled to announce my next guest, Harry Styles!"

The curtain opens a bit for him and Harry puts on his best smile, dimples out. The audience is on their feet for him and it's such a familiar, warming sight, he waves a hand. A row of girls in the back row wave back. 

Then he's embracing Jimmy, smiling at The Roots, slipping into his seat. The last time he was here Zayn was next to him, nudging Harry with an elbow at the commercial break. He doesn't really like to think about that.

"Thank you for being here!"

"Thanks for having me," Harry says, taking a little sip of his water. The crowd is still making a bit of noise but they're getting back into their seats. Waiting. "I like what you've done with the place."

"Nothing's changed-?"

"Exactly."

Jimmy cackles. Harry's always found that Americans are easier to get laughing. Maybe it's just that their hosts are supposed to be nice to the guests and not take the mick. It's always a bit disappointing, if he's honest. 

"How are you? You look great."

"Do I?" Harry smooths down his shirt, flashes the audience a smile. "Your makeup team had to work very hard to get rid of the bags under my eyes."

"Well you have a good excuse," Jimmy says, and here we go, Harry takes in a breath. "Of course, you announced the birth of your first daughter earlier this year, with Taylor, Taylor Swift of course."

"I did, yeah, we did," Harry says over the applause. He smiles. 

"How old is she now?"

"Five months."

"And how is fatherhood treating you?"

"It's good." Harry laughs then, aware of how shit his answers are. He's always been bad by himself, needs the other boys to cut him off when he talks for too long. "I know everyone says that it changes your life completely, but it totally does. She's - everything."

"We actually have a picture here-"

On the monitors comes a picture of her that Harry sent them special; there aren't many pictures of Matilda out in the world. His camera roll is filled, as is Taylor's, but they decided, early on, that she was going to have a crack at a normal life. That meant no exclusive for _People_ magazine, no matter how many million ($3) they were willing to give. 

In the photo Matilda's got her big blue eyes open, hands reaching out of her crib to grab at the camera. He waits for the audience to stop cooing. "I know that everyone's baby is great, but our baby is sort of the best baby."

" _Our_ baby?" Jimmy's eyes glance around nervously, mouth twitching in the corner. "Harry, you didn't tell me-"

"I didn't know how," Harry says, grave. "The baby is yours. She has your ears."

"What is Taylor going to say?"

"She doesn't have to know. We'll escape at midnight."

"I have a boat waiting for us on the Hudson," Jimmy says but he stumbles over his next words, and Harry laughs, breaking the scene. 

The audience eats it up. Jimmy clasps him on the back and Harry goes for more water. 

"She's absolutely beautiful."

"She is, thank you."

"And her name is-" Jimmy looks down at the card in his hand. "Matilda?"

"Matilda Rhiannon Styles." God, even saying it brings a shiver down his spine. He misses her, needs to know right this second that she's breathing. "Taylor really loved the book, growing up. And we had a list of about a million on our phones, boys and girls names because we didn't find out early-"

"You didn't find out the sex?"

"Wanted it to be a surprise," Harry says, fiddling with his sleeves. "And obviously we want to make sure she grows up knowing that she can be whoever she wants to be, or needs to be - anyways, we had a million names. We would text each other every five minutes with a new name. I woke up once with eighteen texts that just said Ezra in capital letters."

"Sounds like a good method."

"It worked. But when she was born, I don't know, it just fit."

"Now, I know nothing's been confirmed but I was flipping through a magazine this morning-"

"You still buy magazines?"

"I was at the dentist!" Jimmy protests, putting his hands up as the audience laughs. "I was just sitting there, I had nothing to do. Dr. Phil was on."

"Dr. Phil is great," Harry says, nodding seriously. "When Taylor got too pregnant to like, move easily, we would watch afternoon telly. Learned a lot about mending your broken past."

"'We teach people how to treat us,'" Jimmy quotes, flawlessly. Harry thinks about Niall and his repertoire of accents, smiles. "But, no, you distracted me! I wanted to say that in the magazine I was reading-"

"The dentist magazine."

"-yes, the dentist magazine, I saw a photo of the wonderful Taylor Swift with a very nice piece of jewelry on her ring finger." Jimmy leans back, bites at his pen. He shrugs. "Would you happen to know anything about that?"

Harry waits for the audience to quiet down. "What magazine was it?"

"People?" Jimmy looks to The Roots, as if they know what he reads in a dentist waiting room. "Us Weekly? I don't know."

"I think they might be the ones who once wrote I was dating Obama," Harry says. Jimmy looks at him with wide eyes before breaking into laughter. "That may have been someone else though."

"So you're saying it's not true."

"The Obama story? No that one's definitely true. Sorry, Michelle, didn't want you to have to find out this way."

"She had to find out eventually," Jimmy says, nodding seriously. "But you and Taylor are not engaged."

"No, we're not," Harry says, smiling. "We have so much going on, what with raising like, a baby, that we don't think it's important. It's fun to date again."

"What's the typical date night for you? I mean, do you guys do big date nights?"

"Oh yeah. It's really romantic, with the fireplace on and quiet music playing and Matilda throwing up on our shoulders. Super classy."

Jimmy laughs, takes a gulp of water. "Well, a huge congratulations for your daughter. I'm glad to hear everything is going well in the Styles-Swift residence."

"Thank you."

A round of applause. Harry thinks about the girls in the back row, wonders if they were as mad as a good number of his fans when the news broke out. Wonders if they sent horrible messages to Taylor, like all those tweets she didn't read. He hopes not.

"I'm not sure how," Jimmy says, straightening his cue cards. "But since you and Taylor announced the child, you've managed to keep very under the radar. How did you manage that, when both of you are so huge?"

"It wasn't easy all the time," Harry says, crossing his leg. "We were sure to only tell the people that mattered, really. And stress isn't very good in a pregnancy, so we ended up spending a lot of time out of the public eye. It was good."

"Who was the first person you told?"

"Me?" Harry takes another sip. His mouth is less dry than when they first entered. He trusts Jimmy not to turn this thing around for a cheap joke. "We told her mum together, which was quite nerve-wracking."

"Oh no," Jimmy says, eyes wide. "Was she not good about it?"

"No, no, she was great," Harry says, chuckling. "But I was terrified. I thought for sure she was going to give me a lecture. She didn't at all, and now is the most wonderful grandmother in the world. Except my mum, of course. Love you mum!"

The audience laughs. 

"Ed Sheeran was on the show a couple weeks ago, and he told me that he was the first who knew."

"Outside of family, yes," says Harry, blocking out the part of his brain that thinks about Nick's kitchen all those months ago. "He was insufferable about it too. I remember him telling us not to write any songs about the baby, because the world had heard too many songs about our relationship already."

"That's amazing."

"He's really good with her."

"I'm sure he is," Jimmy says. He takes a drink of his own drink. "Now, after the break you will be joining me for a round of Egg Roulette, correct?"

"Of course," Harry says, fingering at the end of his hair. "I hear eggs are good for split ends. Is that true?"

"No idea. Harry Styles everyone!"

The audience claps, cheers. Harry looks into his lap, lets his smile drop. He wonders if all of this is too soon. It's nice being out for the night, but he misses Matilda's soft warmth in his arms. For a second he blindly hates the world he's painstakingly created for himself, hates that there are people staring at him now and they won't stop until he leaves. 

But then Jimmy is leaning over to chat and Harry puts on his smile once more. 

 

"How did it go?"

"Fine," Harry says, later that night. His hair is dripping down his back, still wet from the shower he had at the studio. It's made his shirt all damp at the shoulders and he had to sit with the discomfort all the whole way home. His driver, Trevor, was definitely laughing at him. "Lost the egg thing."

"Poor baby."

"Mm. Speaking of, did you put her down already?"

Taylor sighs as she settles into bed. She's wearing her glasses, looks unpolished and warm in the soft light of the bedside lamp. 

"She was being fussy. Had to sing three songs tonight."

Harry smiles. He ties his hair back into a bun, splashes water on his face. There's a spot growing on his forehead and he desperately wants to pick it, but the last time he did that it went all bloody and gross and Taylor kept giving him _I told you so_ looks. 

Taylor looks up from her phone as he walks by. "If you wake her up I'll kill you."

"I won't."

"I mean it, Harry!"

"Yeah, yeah."

He steps down the hallway, toes curling up against the hardwood floors. New York is still ripe outside their walls, and he soaks in his night for a second. He spent the entire evening annoyed at the farce of fame, annoyed at tinny audience laughter and smiling talk show hosts. This time last year he would have killed for a prime slot on the Tonight Show, a room full of people in awe of him and his charm and his girlfriend. He wasn't willing to play along though, tonight.

Harry shakes his head and pushes open the door to his daughter's room.

Matilda is perfect in sleep. She has Taylor's soft hair and his eyes, the beginnings of Taylor's long nose and Harry's big mouth. Her crib is hardwood with soft green and white pillows. He leans on it to watch her sleep. 

Even in Harry's wildest dreams, he never quite thought it would be this. 

The night she was born was the best night of Harry's life, obviously, but also probably the most stressful. They were a goddamn caravan to the hospital: Harry and Taylor in the first car with Trevor the driver and Andrea in the front. Scott and Austin followed with Abigail and Karlie. Harry's own parents were behind them, Gemma making calls from the backseat. 

Their little circus invaded the hospital and then it was just the two of them and a delivery room. Taylor's vocal training made her shouts bounce across the corridors. Harry was so delirious by the end of it he almost passed out standing up, a rip in his hospital gown from when Taylor had had enough of the ice chips. 

Fourteen hours of labour and this perfect girl. Harry can't speak for Taylor, exactly, but he's pretty sure it was all worth it. 

Matilda wiggles in her sleep, eyelashes fluttering. She's a sweet baby. She can scream bloody murder with the best of them, and has taken a liking to pulling on Harry's hair when she's crying, but she tucks her face into his neck on a long day and will let him hold her for so long, even when he knows she wants to be put down. 

"I love you," Harry says, even though it's never enough. He used to think of his heart in compartments for the boys but he was wrong. He can give them something else, his lungs or his voice or his dimples, fuck, but his daughter has his heart. 

She has the whole damn thing. 

He stays there, watching her sleep, until Taylor comes in to tug him back to bed. 

 

Harry has never been one for hyperbole but the entire population of New York is definitely in their apartment right now.

On the surface it's a dinner party, something Harry loves and misses and was totally on board with when Taylor first mentioned it. He helped her sort out the table cloths and prepare a mountain of little appetizers, cookies, and his world famous butter tarts. Somehow, it's turned into more of a bash though, the balcony doors open along with the windows, soft autumn breeze cooling the stuffed rooms of their house.

Harry knows nearly every person here and still doesn't quite feel like he belongs among them. There's Karlie and the Haim girls, who he spent a memorable night with when Taylor was seven months pregnant and asleep in front of the fire at her Rhode Island mansion. There's Ellie and Sam and Cara and Cara's girlfriend and everything is fucking perfect on the surface but he can't help his furrowed brows.

Also Selena is here somewhere and she keeps avoiding his gaze which has to mean things are colder than warmer between her and Niall.

Matilda is being passed around like a doll. It's not unlike when she was first born and everyone needed to hold her, make sure she was really there. Even then though, Harry was jealous, stupid, worried she'd find someone she loved more than him. He knows it's ridiculous to put that on someone so young but he can't help it.

She is his very favourite and he can't help but want to be hers.

"This is a seriously cute baby, Hazza," Cara says, holding Matilda up to her face to press a raspberry to her cheek. "Are you sure it's yours?"

"You've made that joke already, Delevingne," he says, digging at his nails where a bit of fluff is choosing to reside. He gets it out, blows it away. "Getting slow in your old age."

"Speaking of old age," she says, rocking Matilda back and forth. Harry watches Matilda's eyelids flutter. "You've been sitting on this couch for like, an hour. You should move about a bit, yeah? Isn't this your party?"

"It's Taylor's, technically."

"But you're a 'we' now, yes? Doesn't that make you co-host?"

Harry looks around the apartment he's been living in for almost a year. He's in a couple books on the shelves either side of the television, his guitar is up against Taylor's piano in the corner near the stairs. But everything else, his paintings and old mugs and the snow globe Gemma bought him from San Francisco, is still in LA, checked on by Jeff every week and cleaned extensively by Lucina. 

"I guess it does," Harry says, quiet. 

Cara raises a pointed eyebrow at him, but lets it go as she spots Vance Joy across the room, holding hands with one of the dancers from Taylor's tour. She plops Matilda in his lap and gives him a swift kiss on the cheek.

"Daddy," she says, winking, before she takes off to go annoy everyone else.

Matilda is warm and sleepy in his arms. She goes straight to his neck as he brings her close, one hand under her bum. It took almost fifteen minutes to get her into her little dress this evening, but Taylor insisted after she found out Cindy was definitely going to be there because _you can't get a Dior dress from Cindy Crawford and not make your baby wear it, that's just impolite, Harry_.

"Hi darling," Harry says, close to her ear. He pets at the hair around her tiny ears. "You having a fun time?"

Matilda begins gnawing absentmindedly on his shirt. It's silk and has little peacocks on it and he wore it for a reason he can't remember now. People sort of laughed when they saw it and maybe that's why, to complete their idea of Harry Styles™. 

"Me neither." He rubs a hand over her back. It reminds him a lot of how Lux was, so small in his hands and fragile but so real and durable. "Think I'd rather be reading you _The Very Hungry Caterpillar_. You like that one, right?"

"You talking to yourself, Styles?"

Harry looks up from his daughter's little feet in their little gold slippers. It's Dougie Poynter, long hair just as scraggly as ever. 

"I've gone mad," Harry says, but he smiles. It was probably stupid, not to have realized that Dougie would have come with Ellie, but he forgot in all his gloom. "How are you? I haven't seen you in forever."

"Well stand up then, so I can hug you and your adorable baby."

Harry does, handing Matilda over carefully. Dougie's good with her, soft smiles and little jiggles to make her giggle. Harry remembers seeing him around a lot on the last tour in Australia, but the group of them were nearly always accompanied by Niall and it always felt like Harry had somewhere else to be. 

"She's a doll, Haz."

"She's alright," Harry says, shrugging. He slides his hand over her head. "I'm starting to get what Tom always said about Buzz, though, like - the lack of sleep and insanity that comes with having a baby fades away once someone else holds her. Then all you can do is boast."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mm. Matilda is going to start teething soon. She's also the best baby, ever."

Dougie laughs, rubs his nose against hers. "Can't wait to have one of my own, someday. You know. Think that'll be nice."

"Yeah?" Harry says, not too surprised. "You and Ellie been talking about it?"

"Just the once, but," he shrugs, smiles. "When it's right, it's right, you know?"

Harry, who really doesn't know much about right timing, nods. 

Dougie wanders off after they've both caught-up and Harry's left with a snoozing Matilda in his arms. He walks around to find Taylor, can't remember seeing her since they first starting handing out lobster puffs. It's not an easy journey; they're stopped every few seconds by someone wanting to coo over Matilda. 

"Oh god, you two make a picture!" says Sam Smith, his hand over his heart. Harry spies the near empty glass of wine in his hand and guesses it's not his first. 

"Thanks," Harry says, and just for fun he throws out a dimpled smile.

It's nice to know that despite being a father at 23, he can still send people into a blush. He needs that, every once and awhile.

Taylor's in the kitchen with a million models. She's got a glass of white wine in her hand, watered down, but she's laughing like she's been on the beers for a few hours. A year without a cocktail will do that to a person, Harry supposes.

"Taylor," he calls over the din of the many party guests.

She looks up from Bella Hadid's ear and grins at him. "Boyfriend! Baby! Welcome to the party!"

The circle of girls laugh at her and turn to give Harry and Matilda little smiles and waves. Matilda snuffles against his shirt.

"I'm just going to put her down," Harry says, stroking a hand over Matilda's ear. "Figured you would want to say goodnight."

"She can stay up a bit longer, if she wants. We're going to do karaoke in a bit."

"She's asleep, Tay."

"Okay, okay," Taylor says, laughing and stumbling over to them, heels hooked over one finger. Her smile is bright and blurry and Harry wishes he could be next to her now, wishes he could play the part she wants him to. 

"Good night, baby," Taylor says, pressing a sweet kiss to the crown of Matilda's head. She looks up at Harry and her gaze focuses a bit. "Are you okay?"

"Of course."

Taylor's hand comes up, curls around his ear. Harry closes his eyes. "Sad boy. What do you have to be sad about? Everything's great."

"Headache," Harry mutters, trying out a smile. "I might grab an aspirin."

"Do that." Taylor presses a kiss to his lips. "You don't look right with a frown."

Harry waves at the kitchen and they shout their goodbyes at his back. He carries Matilda through the bursting living room and up the staircase, one hand under her bum as her little feet kick softly against his side. 

  
[ ](http://imgur.com/2TC7BsC)  


It's so much faster getting her out of her dress than it was putting it on. He gives her a new diaper and buttons up the soft, teddy onesie that Gucci sent them before Taylor had even really confirmed the pregnancy. 

She goes down easy, already half asleep from the party. Harry sings to her anyways. 

" _I'm sorry if I say I need you_ ," he sings, kneeling by her crib so he's at eye level to her sleeping form. " _But I don't care, I'm not scared of love_."

The party continues on downstairs. He leaves her eventually, double checking that the baby monitor is on, before making his way to the banister. It takes him back to the first couple of days when neither of them could sleep. Taylor and he spent hours hanging over her crib, taking turns putting a hand to her face to make sure she was breathing. 

If Harry leaned his head over the banister he'd be able to see everyone mingling down below. He doesn't, choosing instead to sink to the floor, resting his head on the bars like he was on Matilda's crib only a minute ago.

Like this he can almost imagine himself as a child in pajamas, Gemma across from him as they silently listened below to their parents' parties. His parents used to throw them nearly every weekend before the divorce and every time Harry and Gemma would be lured from their beds, pressed up tight together and trying to make sense of the laughter, the tinkering of wine glasses, the easy banter. 

He wonders if that will be Matilda one day. He wonders if she'll have someone with her when she does. He wonders if it will be these banisters or different ones.

Harry slides his phone from his pocket. He tries Niall but it goes straight to voicemail. Liam's rings out but doesn't go anywhere. Harry's thumb hovers over the last number. The smartest part of his brain is urging him to put the phone away but the dumber, impulsive side takes over. 

He presses the phone to his ear and cringes when the call is picked up. "Hey Lou."

"Harry?" Louis sounds confused, then suspicious. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"No, no, I was just-" Harry hesitates, wants to say _I wanted to see how you were, I miss you_ , but there's no telling how that will be misinterpreted. He bites his lip. "I wanted to ask you about babies."

"Babies?" Louis' voice has gone higher. "What about babies?"

"Do you ever get jealous when your baby likes someone more than you?" Harry asks. He sticks his feet out, crosses them at the knee. 

Louis takes a second to answer. When he does, there's a friendly spark to his voice. "All the time."

"How do you stop feeling jealous?"

"I don't. You can't, you just have to ride it out."

"But it's like, I know she loves me best. Or at least I'm tied for first place? But I can't help it."

"Babies are strange creatures, mate. They shit and eat and sleep once a fortnight but you can't help but want to give them everything you have."

"Someone should write a song about that."

"Fuck, you're right."

Harry laughs. "How are you? How's Freddie?"

"Good, good, we're all - good. It's weird being back in London, feel like I spent so much time in LA during the first year."

"That's right!" Harry smiles, shuffles so the wall isn't digging into his back as much. "You're doing X Factor now."

"Yeah, and it ain't easy shit, mate, I'm telling you. It's great to see Si and Olly again, but it's a hard fucking commitment. I haven't been out to pub night in weeks."

"A travesty."

"And the talent, I mean, I love the acts, you know, but there are some that are just purely for shock value. And while I loved Wagner as much as anyone, that has to stop somewhere, you know?"

Harry feels his lungs swell up, closes his eyes to hold in the feeling. "They're just a distraction from what the show is really about."

"Exactly," Louis says and his voice has gone into rant mode now. Harry smiles, rests his head against the wall, and listens. 

 

The next morning is quiet. For once in her life Matilda isn't screaming at the top of her lungs and Taylor is all sleepy beside him, drooling a bit on her pillow.

Harry smiles, shifts across the sheets until he's hanging over her back. She's wearing one of his shirts, the old faded Packers one Cal gave him for Christmas a million years ago. He kisses her shoulder, hums a bit.

"Hey sleepy," he whispers. She smells like his cologne and baby powder and white wine. 

"Noo," Taylor moans. 

"Yes."

"Nooooooooo-"

"The sun is shining," Harry sings, catching her around the waist and pulling her back with him as he shifts. "The birds are singing! Matilda is quiet! And, unbelievably, I've got a hungover Taylor Swift in my bed."

"I am not hungover."

"Babe, you smell like The Morning After."

"You're not funny."

"Did you have a good time last night?"

"I did." She turns in his arms, kisses him. "I sang _Stronger_ on the karaoke."

"I heard."

"Cara sang _What Makes You Beautiful_."

"Heard that too."

"Where did you get to?" Taylor asks, her eyebrows meeting in the middle, a little dip. "You're not one to turn down karaoke. I was expecting you to make me duet with you on _Go Your Own Way_." 

"Was tired."

"You don't seem tired now."

"Don't I?" Harry asks, tugging her up for another kiss. "Weird."

"I'm onto you."

"Sure you are."

Her hand goes to his chin, fingertips tracing over the damn scar there. He can't really remember crying that night. He was on so many fucking drugs he can barely remember any of it, just saying _sorry_ a thousand times and Taylor's cool hand on his forehead. 

It's warm, sleepy sex. Sliding into Taylor still feels like the planets are aligning a bit. Harry drops his face to her neck, works his hips real slow. This is the bit that's always felt right between them. They could be between tour dates and drugged on jetlag and it still always felt so fucking good-

"Up a little- there you go."

"Faster, babe-"

"You need to stop and smell the roses sometimes, Swift."

"Now is so not the time, _Styles_ -"

He presses into her harder, faster. She looks so much like herself, spread out against the pillows, knees bent and up over his waist. She looks so - she is so Taylor. Even without the heels and the lips and the innocent eyes she was always Taylor Swift.

"Good?"

"Mm."

He moves his lips down further. "Better?"

"I will kill you."

Her nails curl into his shoulder, his neck, make a fist in his hair. She presses his face down with purpose so he slips his mouth around her nipple and sucks, sucks hard until she makes those little noises she always does when she's close. 

"Close-"

"I know, baby-"

Taylor moves her hand down from his shoulder and brings it between her legs. She's all waxed smooth down there again. Her nails are done, her hair short and straight across her neck, her legs no longer prickly. It's a good thing - and fuck, if she likes it then what does it matter? Why can't he stop thinking about it? Harry shakes himself, goes faster, tries to be better.

She gasps against his neck and her body goes so tight around him, so tight he can hardly move. 

"God-" she's saying, chest heaving in the early morning light. "Fuck, Harry-"

He pulls out, careful, and peels the condom off. It's enough, her in the morning sun, eyes droopy, stomach tight with stretch marks, still, from the baby-

Harry comes on his own stomach, eyes closed, face probably doing that stupid thing he noticed once in that one hotel room in Argentina with the mirror on the ceiling above his bed. He flops down onto Taylor and she immediately starts in - 

"Ughh, gross," she says, pushing his head away from her. 

"Shut up," Harry mutters into her neck. "You're ruining my afterglow."

He freezes at that. Taylor laughs above him and shoves him again until he's moving, stretched out next to her.

"You're an idiot," she says, laughing.

Harry smiles, looks away. _You're face is ruining my afterglow_ , his head provides for him. Almost a year ago now, him and Nick in bed. Nick's eyes all crinkled up at the corner and warm like those fucking toffee apples they give out on Bonfire Night that Harry always misses because he's in Japan. 

"You okay?" 

He glances over at Taylor. She still looks like heaven and hell, propped up against the pillows like that. He goes to answer but is cut off by a shrill cry through the baby monitor. 

"Your daughter has excellent timing."

"I think you mean _your_ daughter," Taylor says, eyebrow raised. "Only one of us was up changing her at 4:30 this morning, if I recall."

Harry closes his eyes and counts to ten in his head. He pushes himself out of bed at seven. 

"There's a bottle in the fridge," Taylor says as he slides on some pants, a t-shirt. She's grabbing her phone from the side table. 

"Yep," Harry says. He leaves the room. 

Sex with Taylor always felt right. It's all the everything else that - well. 

 

The weeks crack on and Matilda grows up, little by little. Her teeth are just starting to make themselves known, sharp incisions cutting into her soft gums. Taylor has a million old fashioned tricks for teething but it still squirms up Harry's stomach, seeing his baby uncomfortable.

Niall drops him an email on the first day of October to say he'll be in town. In a Skype call a few days after the email, Harry welcomes him the spare room but Niall waves him off. Says he's staying in his mate Nathan's place in Chelsea. Harry doesn't know a Nathan and it stings, just a little.

Harry gets a call while he's in Central Park with Matilda. Taylor's in meetings all day to discuss album 6 and all the stuff she put on hold to have a baby. Harry chanced the subway to get here, kept his head down near Matilda's stroller the whole ride and sang her little songs.

There haven't been any paps yet and the sun is warm on his face.

"Nialler," Harry says as he picks up, smiling up at the changing trees above him. "What's the craic, mate?"

"That's my line."

Harry laughs, feels Matilda rock on his chest at the feel of it. She played around a bit with a little octopus plushie Liam sent her and has tired herself out now, lying on Harry's chest and making little noises every once and awhile.

"You in the city?"

"Just landed. I'll probably do the meeting this afternoon, with Joel and them, but I'm free for dinner?"

"There's a new Syrian place opened up that we've been meaning to go to."

"Mm, shawarma."

"Mm, falafel."

"Delicious," Niall agrees, and Harry tries to picture the exact smile on his face. "What are you up to?"

"Central Park with Mattie," Harry says, turning his head to the side to feel the cool grass on his face. "It's a gorgeous day out."

"You're turning into a real housewives of NYC, H, better watch out."

"Nah, don't have good enough breasts for that."

"They're alright, though."

Harry laughs and Matilda lets out a little "Fa!" noise.

"What was that, darling?"

"Fa! Fa!"

"Your Uncle Niall is pretty silly, isn't he?"

"I haven't even met her yet, don't put her off me."

"She's already sick of you, mate. Was ill on me last week after Skyping you."

"Nah, just tired of your old mug."

"I miss you," Harry says, then looks down at Matilda who is amusing herself by blowing bubbles into his shirt. "Mattie would miss you too but she's too busy ruining the shirt Dior sent me special."

"One hell of a name drop, Styles."

"Oh fuck off."

"Hey! No swearing around the baby, Haz, Jesus."

"She's asleep, calm down," Harry says and she is, her warm face snug in Harry's collarbones. 

"So weird."

"What is?"

"You having a baby," Niall says. "It was weird with Lou too, like, it didn't really hit me right away with Freddie. But like - _you_ are the baby. You're the annoying prat we have to deal with, you know?"

"Thank you, Niall, I appreciate that."

"You know what I mean."

"I guess." Harry's never thought of himself as the baby. They all mum over each other constantly on the road regardless of age. Harry used to bring Liam little mugs of lemon tea when he was feeling poorly and Liam, in turn, would stroke Harry's hair whenever he had a headache. 

"You whine like a baby."

"I do not."

"'Ni _all_ , Li _am_ , I'm _bored_.'"

"I'm hanging up on you now."

"'My throat hurts and no one cares, no one cares about me, what if I _die_ -'"

"I have never said that in my life."

"Mate, I've got it on video."

"Whatever," Harry says, pouting up at the clouds. He wonders what time it is. Matilda will need to be fed soon. "I'll see you tonight?"

"Text me the details. And if you don't bring your daughter there will be hell to pay."

"Yeah, yeah."

Harry sits up carefully, one hand over Matilda's bum so she doesn't fall off. She makes a weepy noise in her throat so he's quick to distract her, blowing a big raspberry on her cheek. She squeals.

"Fa! Fa!"

"Fa!" Harry says back, grinning at her. She's growing into her own little mannerisms and it's mind-blowing that she is her own person, that one day she'll have thoughts and opinions. "What do you say we get you something to eat, hey baby?"

Matilda isn't great at focusing her eyes but she's doing better with every passing day. Her eyes are still the same light blue they were at the hospital but they're starting to get darker in the corner. Taylor thinks they're going to go green properly and Harry secretly hopes she's right. 

"Want to go home, love?" Harry whispers. 

"Fa."

"You're so smart, love," Harry says, pressing his smile into her face until she giggles. "Gonna be smarter than me one day. You'll be able to tell me all about college, see, I never went. High school drop out."

Harry looks down at her face. She's got little wrinkles on her forehead which either mean she's hungry or she's pooped herself. 

Fatherhood really is a gift.

 

Niall's already at the restaurant when Harry, Taylor, and a sleeping Matilda arrive that night. They'd been held up by Matilda soft whimpers and the slew of paparazzi outside their door, all desperate to snap photos of Taylor's flat stomach (Taylor was meticulous about working out the first few months after Matilda but she's calmed down since, joining Harry for morning yoga and an evening run). 

"Jesus Christ," Niall says as they enter, standing up from his seat. The entire restaurant is empty except for a small table in the back where Niall's security, Patrick, sits. Taylor's new guy, Douglas, goes to join him.

"Give her here," Niall says, waving his hands around like a mad man. "Quickly, don't have all day."

"Are you even excited to see me?"

"Who are you?" Niall takes the carrier from Taylor's arms. "I have never met you before."

"Ni _all_ -"

"Quiet, Harry, you'll wake the baby," Niall says, a little smirk playing over his lips. He gets his face right up in Matilda's space and whispers: "Your daddy is the worst. Run while you still can!"

Niall spend approximately eight more minutes cooing at Matilda before he deigns to greet the rest of them, wrapping his arms around Taylor and giving Harry a tap to the balls.

"Oi!"

"Don't need them anymore, do you? Already procreated." 

"I don't know why I missed you."

"Sure you do."

They sit, a booth because Niall kind of hates chairs where people can sneak up on him. Taylor scoots in next to Harry, Niall across from them. Matilda gets the prime seat, plopped down in her carrier on the table next to Harry's elbow. She's still asleep, but they'll wake her up in a bit so she isn't awake all night.

"That must be so weird," Niall says as the waiter leaves them all glasses of water. "Like, you have a kid. This is a real human being that you created."

"It's so weird," Taylor says, taking a drink. She looks really pretty tonight, red lipstick and a little gold dress. Harry couldn't keep his eyes off her when they first left the house and her cheeks kept going pink under his gaze. "It's hard to wrap our heads around it."

"Must be insane."

"What about you, Nialler?" Harry asks, scanning through his menu. "When do you think you'll be having a little Horan running around?"

Niall snorts. "Subtle way of asking me about my love life, Haz, really."

"I was just wondering!" Harry closes his menu, tries to school his face into innocence. "We've already got two One Direction babies running - erm, crawling around, only you and Leemo left."

"Not quite ready for this yet, H," Niall says, giving Matilda's carrier a little rock. "Not that I don't plan on kidnapping your baby at every available moment."

"You'd have to fight my mom for her," Taylor says, eyebrow quirked. "She's obsessed. Almost snuck away with Mattie during the fireworks on the Fourth of July."

Harry had never properly done the Fourth of July and it was something else to do it with Taylor. They spent the weekend in Rhode Island with her whole family and half her friends. Matilda was the belle of the ball. Taylor and he snuck out during dessert and fucked in her bedroom, one of the first after Matilda had been born. 

"I'm just doing me at the minute," Niall says, drinking his water. "Dating around, the usual. Do you think they have pints here?"

Harry glances at Taylor. Her face is a perfect blank slate but he knows she's memorizing everything Niall's said and his exact speech inflection to relay to Selena over the phone when they get home. Taylor is the world's greatest best friend. 

"Can't imagine they wouldn't," Harry says and he orders one too, along with a falafel wrap, when the waiter comes by. 

"Been desperate for a pint," Niall says, and his whole body seems to slouch at that. "Forgot how f-ing stressful it is to make music."

Harry hums. Taylor says, "God, I know. I've been trying to get back into it, and you forget all the meetings you have to go to."

"So many meetings!" Niall rubs his eyes, smiles at where Matilda's little left foot is peeking out of her blanket. "Thought I was done with all that shit. Thought that was boy band bull."

"You should play me some stuff," Harry says, avoiding Niall's eye only a little bit. "I'd love to hear it."

"Course, Haz." The waiter drops off their pints and Taylor's lemonade. Niall takes a long pull from his before he catches Harry's gaze. "What about you? Been working on anything new?"

Harry snorts. "Please."

"What?"

"Like I have time for that."

"Taylor seems to," Niall says, jutting her chin.

Harry looks down at the table. Niall doesn't know, of course, about the fight they'd had when Taylor told him she was looking to start things up again. It was messy and stupid. He's fine with it now. Really. 

"The album's mostly written, I guess," Harry says, drawing a smiley in the condensation on his pint glass. "I was about to start recording when I flew home to London. And, well, you know what happened next."

"Guess I do," Niall says. He reaches out to run a finger down Matilda's little foot. "New subject?"

"Sure."

"Did you see that video of Katy Perry on stage in Houston last week?"

Harry looks to Taylor, whose face is carefully blank. "I don't know, Taylor, did we see that one?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know, that one where she fell down and got caught in her fur cape?"

"Oh _that_ one," Taylor says. She takes a sip of lemonade. "Yeah, no, we watched that about thirty five times."

Niall laughs.

 

Harry goes with Niall back to his mate Nathan's place in Chelsea that night. It's under the guise of listening to new stuff, but everyone really knows he needs a night away from the madness, just one night.

"Call you tomorrow?"

"Okay," Taylor says as she straps Matilda's seat in. Niall is making faces for her through the window. "Have a good night."

"You too. Sing her something for me."

They kiss, short and sweet. Niall's car smells like McDonalds. 

"That's a fucking cute baby, Haz," Niall says as he buckles in. 

"I know," Harry says. 

It takes awhile, driving through the sea of taxis to get to Niall's friend's shitty apartment. Well, it isn't shitty, but it's not as nice as Taylor's. And the spare bedroom bed is probably bad for Niall's back. Not that Harry's upset or anything. 

"Hey," Niall says, as he kicks off his shoes. "Are you okay?"

Harry slides his jacket off. Is he okay? Is he okay. He closes his eyes. 

"I don't think so," he says.

"Oh, Haz." Niall's arms feel like home. 

"Fuck," Harry says, and he knows he's crying, stupidly. "I missed you so much."

"Missed you too, pet," Niall says, hands jostling Harry's sides, breath warm against Harry's throat. "You've gotten yourself into quite the predicament, haven't you?"

Harry breathes against Niall's shoulder. "You have no idea."

"Wanna talk about it now?"

"No," Harry says, closing his eyes. "No, I want to do something. Watch something. I don't know what I want to do, but I don't want to talk yet."

Niall hums, low in his throat. "Fifa?"

It's so familiar and it sends warmth down to Harry's toes. He presses his grin into Niall's shoulder, bites down lightly and laughs when Niall pinches him.

"Yeah." He hasn't played Fifa since he became a dad. "Yeah, let's do that."

 

It's late when they tuck into bed. The coffee table is littered with glasses. The night started out with pints, as it always does with Niall around, but turned to milkshakes when Niall mentioned he had ice cream in the freezer. Harry's stomach feels a bit bloated but he doesn't regret it. 

Harry hadn't considered the guest room at all, not really, and he's glad when Niall slides into bed next to him. It's nice, to bump up against Niall's familiar knees under the sheets, nice to have someone warm next to him. 

He squirms his head up on Niall's pillow so they can breathe in each other easier. It makes Niall laugh. 

"I think I'm ready to talk now."

"Yeah?" Niall asks. He smiles soft, blinks slow. "What is it then?"

"Awhile ago," Harry says, biting at his lip. "I asked Liam if he thought I was selfish. Do you think I'm selfish?"

"Yeah."

Harry blinks, not quite expecting that. "Oh."

"We're all a bit selfish," Niall says, calm. "You don't audition for a talent show when you're sixteen if you're not a bit ambitious and self-centered."

A tug at Harry's hair startles him, until he realizes it's only Niall's fingers, pulling through the tangle slowly. 

"You're a very selfless person, Harry. You care about people and you always want everyone to be okay. You give a lot of yourself for this job, H, more than I do and that's incredible. You've thrown yourself into Matilda and anyone could see how much you love that little girl."

Harry can feel his stomach blossoming under the words. He tries to hold it in, waits for the _but_ -

"But you also put yourself first a lot. You thrive off attention. You have to be the best liked or you go insane with jealousy. You forget to come home because you'd rather party with your LA friends."

"I don't-" 

"We're all guilty of it, H, but fuck - you let Grimmy wait around forever for you. You dangled yourself in front of him like a carrot. And then, just when it could all work out for you, you're gone."

There's a stupid stinging at the back of his eyes. "That's not fair, Niall."

"Maybe not." The hand in Harry's hair starts up again. He forgot it was there. "But if all this hadn't happened - if Taylor hadn't gotten pregnant, how long do you think you and Nick would have been together?"

Niall's voice is soft. Harry starts crying before he can think of anything to say.

"Aw shit, Haz," Niall says, gentle. "Please don't cry."

Harry goes to move back but Niall tugs his head in until it's snug in Niall's neck. He breathes harsh against Niall's skin, trying to stop his stupid fucking tears. 

"I don't know," Harry gasps. He's making Niall's neck wet and it probably feels so gross. "Fuck, Niall."

"Forget I said anything, darling."

Harry can't stop though. He said forever with Nick. He has said forever with Nick before and he's meant it, mostly. He does want to spend forever with Nick. But he also wants to spend forever with Liam and Gemma and Niall, wants to watch Lux grow into the coolest high school senior ever, wants to holiday with Ben and James when they've got grey hair. 

He wants everything, every fucking morsel he can hold, and Nick is the brightest light he's ever seen. 

Before he came back to London and Nick's front door, he found himself rifling through hundreds of photos he's taken over the years on a memory card that was hidden under a book on his coffee table. It had pictures of skies and buildings, haunting trees and cackling fires. The boys were there, Liam's snapback behind Louis' unimpressed hungover scowl, Niall's grin over a banana split. He has pictures of Kendall lying near his pool in LA, goofy smile on her face, Zach with Donald on his back in a piggyback ride, Jeff drunk off his mind in Tuscon. 

And when he came to a picture of Nick his heart fucking clanged. It was from ages ago, back when Nick's hair was shaggy on the sides and he made Harry laugh from ten to midnight, Monday to Thursday. He had his gorgeous leather jacket on and these old Converse on his feet and he was just staring down the lens. No smile, no silly tongue out or pursed lips. Just hazel eyes and freckled face - the perfect equation to turn Harry into a bumbling mess. He used to trip over himself to say something smart, bend over backwards to make Nick laugh.

Nick was always generous with his laughs. Maybe that's why they never worked. 

"I'm sorry, love," Niall whispers in his ear, bringing him back down to earth. "I hate seeing you cry."

"No, it's not your fault," Harry sighs. He wants to sleep for sixteen years and he wants Niall to be next to him the whole time. "You just told me the truth."

"Sorry anyhow," Niall says, and then he's pulling Harry's face up so he can see it. Harry's eyes have adjusted enough in the darkness that he can make out Niall's smile. "You okay?"

Harry nods then leans up, pressing his lips to Niall's.

It's as warm as he always imagined it would be. Niall's lips are a little chapped and there's stubble on his chin; it curls Harry's toes. 

Niall's finger's curl over Harry's jaw before they pull him back. "Not your girlfriend, mate."

"I'm sorry."

"You want to drag me into this mess too?"

"I've just-" Harry bites his lip, hopes it looks convincing. He wants to kiss Niall until he forgets all the things he said. "I've wanted to do that for a long time."

Niall hums, low in his throat, and drags his thumb over Harry's ear. 

"We'll talk about this in the morning."

"I'm sorry, Niall."

"Good night, Harry."

Harry edges closer, slowly, until his face is tucked back into Niall's chest. Niall doesn't push him away, just sighs a bit and holds him closer. 

 

The next morning at breakfast, Harry finishes his fried egg sandwich before he starts apologizing for the night before.

"Listen," he says, softly, looking up at Niall. "I'm really sorry about last night."

Niall looks at him for a long time. Louis's always been the hardest one to have on your bad side, because he holds a major grudge and tends to alienate you from fucking everyone. Once during the early days Liam managed to make Louis so mad that Louis stole all of Liam's deodorant and threw them out the window while on the motorway between Leeds and Manchester. It was rough.

But Harry always forgets how shit it is to have Niall upset at him. It cuts deeper than when Louis glares or Liam looks hurt from every angle. Even Harry's own brand of anger - mainly pouting and putting on epic fits he's learned from being the baby of every family he's been in - don't compare to Niall's quiet, Irish judgement. 

"Are you not happy?" Niall asks, eyebrows drawn together. "Is that what all of this is?"

"Of course I'm happy. I'm happier than I've ever been."

"Harry, I don't mean with Mattie. I know you fucking explode every time you see her, I meant with everything else. New York. Taylor."

"I like New York," Harry says before realizing that's not what he should have jumped on. "And I love Taylor, of course I do."

"It's just, I've seen you in love before, Haz." Niall looks like he pities Harry and no, no fucking thank you. "I've seen you in love with _Taylor_ and it wasn't anything like this. You're not walking around all moon-eyed."

"I've barely slept in six months, Ni, give me a break."

"Is it Nick?" 

Harry's stomach goes tight. "What are you talking about?"

"Are you still in love with Nick?"

"I- of course I-" Harry has been avoiding this conversation for so fucking long. "You can't shut that shit off, you know that. Of course I still - of course I do. Am."

Niall nods, doesn't say anymore. 

"Why did you ask me that?" Harry says, feeling his face flush in anger. "Just because I still - want to be with Nick doesn't mean I'm not happy here. It doesn't mean I don't enjoy my life and love my girlfriend and my child."

"Never said it did," Niall says, taking a sip of his orange juice. Niall always likes a glass of orange juice in the morning. "But you never used to kiss me when you were in love with Taylor." 

Harry doesn't blush easy but he does then. He opens his mouth to say something, closes it. 

They sit in silence for too long, until Niall's ankle nudges against Harry's. Niall has Harry's favourite smile on, the one that makes the twisty feelings in the bottom of his tummy disappear. Whenever Harry felt sick on the road, even when he was knee-deep in Louis' friendship, he would go to Niall, go to that smile. 

"Still got a few hours left before my meeting," Niall says, and Harry's thinks about how kind he is. "We could have a walk around, if you want. Think there's a book store around here."

"The Strand," Harry say, nodding. "It's my favourite. They have a really good photography section. And travel. And books for Matilda."

" _God_ , fine, we'll go," Niall says, rolling his eyes. 

He winks and Harry's stomach loosens, thinks maybe he didn't fuck everything up after all. 

 

It's just gone three when Harry makes the walk back, little Strand bag bumping against his thigh with every step. He wasn't very ambitious, only picked up a slim copy of Patti Smith's poetry and a beautiful painted copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ for Gemma from the rare books section upstairs. 

The entrance to the subway tempts him but Harry figures he could use the walk. There's a voicemail on his phone from Taylor and then a couple of texts:

_Meeting up with Ella later!! She has new stuff to show me and I'm literally going to explode._

_Mattie is with Este and Alana!_

_They promise to take good care of her though she's going to be a raging feminist next time you see her!_

Harry smiles, texts back a quick: _Tell Ella I say hello x_. He knows that eventually they'll have to get a nanny of some kind, especially when their careers really kick back up again, but for now it's so easy to hire out one of the million friends they have to come round the house and babysit for a couple hours. Matilda has no shortage of famous uncles and aunts to wield cool birthday presents out of when she's a bit older. 

She's well loved. Gemma and Ed are her godparents, officially, and they both send presents approximately three times a day. Gemma's are usually little notes and seashell necklaces. Harry's not entirely sure Ed hasn't tried to buy Matilda an island in the South Pacific Ocean. He wouldn't be surprised. 

On the corner of Canal and Broadway, Harry's stopped by a red light. He spins his head around to watch the madness. It's always rush hour in this city, seas of suits and students crashing waves against the rough concrete. It's the perfect city for an artist, the perfect thrum of colour and sound to make Harry want to burst open his heart, spill its arteries across the page.

But there's nothing. Not even a note.

Just above the streetlights, still stuck on red, there's a red brick building with a smooth grey concrete slab showing round the edges. In a black slash of spray paint someone has written LOVE ME.

The immediate thought he has is that song and the video where Matty licked all over his cardboard cutout self. The next thought is stupid. Predictable. 

Harry wonders where he is. Whether it's raining in England. Nick used to wake him up on October Sundays to explain a Halloween costume in detail, before changing his mind by lunch. He used to sit at the kitchen window and stare at the rain and then say something eloquent like _why are potatoes so good?_ or _Britney Spears should be the next Doctor Who, Harry_. 

Maybe he still does. 

The traffic light switches to green, little walking sign beckoning him over to the other side. Now that he's let himself think about Nick he's everywhere. He's in the deli awning and the stars of the Bank of America. He's the light up sneakers on a fourth grader, the flash of a business woman's glasses, the sun reflecting off the water bottle a teenager is juggling with in front of a shoe shop. 

He waits until he's just around the corner from home to make the call. 

"Hello? Hellooooo?"

Down the line Harry can hear the heavy thrum of a baseline and an echo of voices. Harry's called Nick a hundred times like this, trying to find each other in a new club or desperate to celebrate a birthday together, despite the thousands of miles apart. It makes Harry smile.

"Nick," he says, pressing the phone close to his ear. "Bad time?"

"I can't hear you! Gimme a second!" The phone and Nick travel through the club. Harry hears people arguing over a queue for the toilets, a high pitched voice talking rapidly about some ass who fucked her over. 

"Nick?"

Now Nick's side of the line is all muffled, the usual mess of taxi cabs and rain. It's a different kind of rain in New York. Cold, mostly, and a kind of wetness that saturates.

"This better not be who I think it is," Nick says, voice just gone jagged.

"I just saw Niall," Harry says, urging his own drawling voice to go faster. "And he always reminds me of home. So he kind of made me homesick."

"My name's not Anne, Harry."

"I know," Harry says, letting out a laughing breath. Nick doesn't join him, is unusually quiet down the line. "But you're my- I wanted to talk to you."

"Well," Nick sighs. "Luckily I always seem to pick up."

"I love that about you."

"So Niall, huh? What's he doing in town?"

"Meetings, I don't know." Harry dodges a Congo line of preschool kids all strapped into the same leash. His chest feels light. "We all went for dinner last night. Matilda woke up after our food arrived and touched Niall's face for about an hour. Knew he would be her favourite."

"He's everyone's favourite."

"Mm. So what are you up to? Besides being the world's best morning deejay, of course."

"Actually," Nick says, voice still just off. Harry puts it down to the ocean between them. "At an engagement party."

"Anyone I know?"

"Pixie finally said yes."

"Wow," Harry says. He blinks a few times, takes a well-needed breath.

Pixie is his favourite posh girl, a fucking fiend with a ping pong, and the best rooftop conversationalist Harry's ever met. George has always been good to Harry too, but Nick's constant admiration for his perfect face has - strained their relationship slightly. At least from Harry's side.

"I know," Nick says, half a laugh caught in his throat. "None of us can believe it either."

"Give them my love," Harry says. He makes a mental note to get Sarah to send a batch of flowers over to them and maybe a bottle of that stuff Pixie once threw up into the sink in his London kitchen. "I can't believe I'm missing it."

Nick hums.

"If I was there," Harry starts, drawling a bit. He can't stop himself. "Do you think it would be like Selina's birthday or that party we went to where the deejay had a mullet?"

"Same outcome both times."

"Different circumstance though." One of them involved getting caught snogging in the coat closet and being ridiculed by their friend group. The second one involved more penises, generally.

"Don't know why people keep inviting us to parties."

"Probably because we're fantastic, sexual deviance aside," Harry says. He pops under the awning of the flower arrangement place they went to for Matilda's christening. "Speaking of sexual deviance, what colour pants are you wearing right now?"

"Harry-"

"No pants? What a scandal, Grimshaw."

"Harry, I'm seeing someone."

Harry's first reaction is to laugh. Nick doesn't join him.

"Wait," Harry says, pressing his phone hard enough onto his ear to leave a mark. "What? You're seeing someone? You're- you're dating someone?"

The _else_ echoes around Harry's lungs.

"For a month or so," Nick says. He clears his throat down the line. "We met at one of Rudy's football games. He's a coach. He's- nice. Funny, but not funnier than me."

"That's great, Nick." It sounds hollow as hell. "I'm really happy for you."

"Thanks. I- I think you'd like him. He's from up North too. Gets really into sports."

Harry doesn't ever want to meet this someone. He doesn't ever want to hear about his sports teams, doesn't ever want to have a drink with him in some dingy Manchester club while Nick smiles warmly between them.

"You deserve to be happy, Grim," Harry says, wondering when his lungs got so heavy. "He's a lucky guy."

"Pixie's calling me back in," Nick says, abrupt. "With any luck she wants me to make out with George."

Harry's laugh is shrapnel. "Wouldn't be the first time."

"Hey, H?"

"Yeah?" Harry says. He wants to say something else, a whole book full of something elses but his tongue has gone caramel sticky without his knowledge.

"Call your mum next time. Okay?"

"Yeah."

Nick hangs up.

There's a bench outside the bagel place, the bagel place that Taylor made Harry go to every fucking day when she was pregnant, and it's bright blue. Usually there's a homeless man sleeping on it and Harry will pop a few dollars in his Starbucks cup as he passes by, but today it's empty and he stumbles to it, relieved. 

Nick with a someone. Nick with a someone who is not him. Nick with a someone just like he has a someone. 

Two women walk by with a yappy little dog on a leash and they look at his face carefully as they do and for the first time in forever Harry thinks it isn't because of who he is. He can feel how red his face is, how bright it feels on this grey New York afternoon. Harry's heart is beating so fucking fast. 

He slides his phone out of his jeans, flicking the screen on. The background is Matilda, her little face asleep on Taylor's shoulder. It's from Labour Day weekend, when Harry's mum and Gem were visiting and they rented out a little place in Vermont and drank Mama Swift's homemade lemonade. 

The very tip of Matilda's nose is red in the picture and Harry's never loved anything more. 

Her name is in his phone simple, no emoji hearts or nicknames. He's never cared for that stuff. The line rings three times -

"Harry?"

"Hey." He's coming apart at the fucking seams. 

"Hi," she says, concern lifting her words up at the corners. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Just wanted to talk to you. You free?"

"I've got a break, yeah. What's up?"

Harry toys with his lip. He can't stop thinking about Nick holding someone else's hand. "Are you busy tomorrow?"

Taylor takes a long moment to answer. "Nothing that can't be re-arranged. What did you have in mind?"

"How would you feel about a little impromptu trip?" 

 

The Californian sun feels like an old friend. It wraps around him in a hug and pries his heart out, bit by bit. It doesn't mend it, not exactly, but it feels soothing anyhow. Nothing seems quite so dire in California. 

"You're going to burn."

"I never burn."

"That's what everyone says before they burn."

Harry opens one eye. Taylor's under the canopied patio only a few feet away from Harry's spot in the sand. She's wearing a faded yellow bikini under a ridiculous sheer robe that Harry wants to steal immediately. 

"Are you planning on joining me?"

"Good here," Taylor says primly before she wanders over to him. She slides sunglasses over her eyes. She looks every part the Californian goddess. "It's so hot."

"Now that you're here, sure it is."

She pushes his face away with one hand and stretches out on the towel next to him. There are these amazing loungers just under the awning next to the long staircase, but he opted for feeling the sand under his back. There's something about its grit and the smoothness of the ocean, that makes Harry never want to leave this place.

There are a lot of cool things Harry's gotten to do in his short life, but borrowing Cindy Crawford's Malibu beach house for the afternoon is definitely up there on the cool list. 

"Is she okay?" Harry asks, eyes on the ocean. 

"Mm." Taylor tilts her head back, long neck stretched. "Angela and Peter are up there with her. Stop worrying."

"Should have brought her down."

"You can talk to me, you know," Taylor says, voice just a slight too sharp to be teasing. "I've heard that I can carry a conversation, from time to time."

Harry turns his head. Her eyes look lighter when they're in the sun. He looks at her until he starts feeling a sweat creeping along his hairline. 

"This is nice," he says, turning back to the ocean. 

"It was a good idea."

"You're welcome."

"Shut up."

God, it stretches for miles, the beach, the ocean, the shimmering blue haze of the West Hollywood sky. There are a bunch of rocks blocking off this section of beach and Harry tries to think back to the first music video, being buried in the sand by Zayn. 

Harry opens his mouth to ask Taylor about Gigi, wonders how she's liking the new boy, that actor with the funny last name, but he stops himself when Taylor shifts, her leg brushing up against his. 

He brings his arm around slowly, slings it over Taylor's stomach. The towel rumples up as he shifts onto his side but he doesn't mind much. He fits his nose against Taylor's jaw, digs his chin into her collarbone. 

"I like you," Harry whispers. He thumbs at the string of her bikini. "I like you a whole lot."

She's quiet over the ocean: "I like you too."

 

Taylor's been desperate for a day out with Selena and Harry can only take so much of the two of them in the same room, so he takes Matilda and gets out of their hair. It's as brilliant as it always is in Hollywood, hazy blue sky and one hell of a sunshine. 

He straps Matilda to his chest, gets the blue sparkly pacifier in her soft mouth, and they're off. Angela drops them on a good labyrinth of streets and cafes and art galleries. Harry wears his best sunglasses over his eyes and throws his hair up in a bun that's growing alarmingly bigger every passing day.

"You look like Bette Davis," Harry tells Matilda as they meander around town. "Do you know her work?"

Matilda sucks happily on her pacifier and stares at every passing person. She's got on a white, wispy hat courtesy of the Jenner clan and the cutest golden sneakers Harry's ever seen. Harry's pretty sure Alexa only bought them because she knew he would want a matching pair.

"We'll have to get you up to speed on the classics of Hollywood when we get home. I want your first proper word to be _dahhhling_. Daddy would also be sufficient."

His girl points at a fire hydrant. He takes it as wholehearted agreement.

"Niall and I used to watch old movies when we flew to Australia," Harry tells her. He looks around for a bench to sit on but there aren't any. Harry's disappointed; he loves a good bench. "Niall's the only person I know who's gotten more nervous of planes the more he's flown. So we decided we'd start keeping ourselves properly occupied. We started with _Gone with the Wind_ because Niall really likes that line at the end, and then we watched the one with Frank Sinatra where he's in the navy? That was okay."

Matilda makes some cooing noises from behind her pacifier. Harry rests his chin on her funny hat. He strokes a few fingers over her chubby baby cheeks. She's so - soft. She's soft everywhere. 

"I miss him too," Harry says. If he raises on his tip toes he can just see the ocean from here. "I miss them all. You haven't met Louis yet, but you'd like him. Everyone likes Louis when they first meet him. And Liam met you that day you wore the pretty pink dress, remember? Remember pooping in the pretty pink dress?"

Apparently she doesn't, as Matilda continues on her happy murmurs and excited pointing. There are worst things. 

"Gonna send Nana a letter," Harry says as they duck into the post office. He takes off Matilda's hat and kisses the top of her head. "And all those photos Tay- Mum took of you during that fashion shoot. Did you like getting your picture taken?"

Matilda's not great at answering back but she looks mighty cute sucking away at her dummy, big eyes on Harry. 

"Not too much I hope," Harry says, stepping up to the counter. There's no one about yet. "Get a taste for it and you'll never go back."

"Hello," the postal worker says, coming through the saloon-like doors in the back. She turns a big smile onto Harry and freezes.

"Hi," Harry says, dimpling, pleased.

"Oh my god," the woman says. Her name tag says _Angie_. "Your baby is so cute. I love you."

"Thanks," Harry says. He pats Matilda on her little head. "She's okay, isn't she."

"I'm sorry I said I loved you," Angie says and this isn't Harry's first rodeo, he knows the many types of fans. He hasn't had one with no filter in awhile though. "It's just - big fan, obviously. I was so jealous when Taylor Swift went on Ellen and announced - oh my god, um, did you need to mail something?"

"Yes, actually," Harry says. He slides the letter over the table. Angie's cheeks are as red as Matilda's fire engine socks (given to her lovingly by her Uncle Liam). "And don't worry, I couldn't stop talking when I met Mick Jagger. Not that I- I'm not comparing myself to Mick Jagger. I swear. Really."

Angie laughs and snaps out of it long enough to get his letter sent. It feels nice. Good. He's given a lot of himself over to Matilda and this whole other life, hands outstretched, but it's always fun to see that he can still be Harry Styles every once and awhile. 

Later, he takes Matilda out for lunch at this Mexican place near the park, a stone throw away from the Troubadour. His mate Alejandro runs it, and he comes out to join them. 

"She looks just like you, Harry."

Harry smiles. Matilda's got avocado down the right side of her face. "More Taylor, I think."

"Modest. How's the album coming? My daughter keeps tweeting you and you never reply."

"I'll try to get on that," he says, digging up another spoonful of mashed avocado. His quesadilla is going cold next to him. No one ever told Harry that having a baby would mean he never gets to eat first. "So busy, you know."

"I know." 

Alejandro is all quiet wisdom. He never says more than he needs to. He nods a lot. Harry wants to be just like him when he's older. 

"It's hard to see past her," Harry says, watching Matilda smear the avocado on her face with one little hand. "For the first two weeks I could hardly sleep every night; I thought I would wake up and she'd have stopped breathing. I didn't want to put her down. We were both bad but Taylor got over it and I - I don't think I have."

She's smiling now, all green gums. Harry smiles back at her.

"A baby is not a burden," Alejandro says after a long silence. "Only a blessing. And they might be fragile, but they have strong bones."

Harry nods. It's something Gemma said once, after holding Matilda when she was only a few hours old. She turned to Harry in the hospital room, Harry still delirious with joy and lack of sleep, and said: _She's going to get her heart broken one day, H._

He just never wants to be the one to break it.

 

They go out as a family to dinner at this new place with Jeff and Glenne that night. Matilda's out cold in her carrier, exhausted from being toted around the better parts of Hollywood for several hours with her dad. Her face is a little pink at the cheeks and Taylor is nervous but Harry thinks it will dull down. 

It's a bitch getting Mattie out of her carrier and into the crib they've set up in Harry's spare bedroom. Between the two of them they don't wake her up, though, and it's with a whole lot of relief that they find themselves back in Harry's bedroom.

"That was an incredible salad tonight," Taylor says, unbuttoning the long back of her dress. "I wanted to ask the chef what he put in the vinaigrette."

"You should have."

"A good chef never tells - can you help me with this?"

Harry slides in behind her. He pops the buttons free, fingers brushing against Taylor's soft spine as he goes. With each one her dress falls more and more open until it's right down to the slight curve of her bum. 

"There you go," he says quietly, when he's done. 

"Thanks."

He looks up. They're reflected back in the old wooden mirror Matt found him at some pawn shop in Arizona. Taylor's lips are cherry red. Her hair is pinned back with a little french braid. She looks like a beautiful doll except for the dress unfolding off her shoulders. 

"You looked really beautiful tonight."

"I think we need to talk."

Harry takes a step back, shrugs off his suit jacket. "What about?"

"I was texting Blake earlier," Taylor says, sliding her dress off. Blake and she have been texting all the time since Matilda was born, which has led to many a conversation around a barbecue with Ryan Reynolds; Harry's not complaining, even if Ryan made it very clear within seconds of their meeting that Zayn was always his favourite.

"She was talking to me about how much the house means to her, you know? How much it meant to buy a new place together and raise their child there. And I really like that idea, Harry."

Harry lets his silk button-down fall to the floor. "You want to buy a house together?"

Taylor kind of laughs, shaking her head. "Yeah. Yeah, I want to buy a house. With you."

"But we already have like, a lot of houses. A stupid amount of houses." Even in this trip they had to make a pro/con list of whether they would stay in Harry's or Taylor's Beverly Hills mansion. It was exhausting.

"No, but - they're all your house or my house. I want a - I want an _our_ house. I want Matilda's house. I want somewhere that is new, that's a new beginning for us."

"You don't like New York anymore?"

"I love New York, you're- you're missing the point on purpose."

"Okay, we'll buy a new house!" Harry says, throwing his hands up. Taylor's perched at the end of the bed now, so he leans against the door to the bathroom. "In New York?"

Taylor slowly shakes her head. "No."

"Tennessee?"

"No."

"London? Here? Shit, Tay, give me something."

"I don't know yet," Taylor sighs, rubbing a hand over her hair. It goes up and static-y. "Maybe somewhere new. Like - Maine."

Harry rubs at his eyes. Fuck, he just wants to go to sleep. "You want to buy a house in Maine?"

"Not really," Taylor says, eyes going fierce at the sides. "I just want it to be a discussion. I want the possibility of getting a house in Maine."

"Christ, Taylor-"

"Okay, fine! Vermont. A nice place in Warren, Vermont. Or fucking New Haven or Arizona or San Diego-"

"Why not England then?" Harry says, before he realizes what he's saying. "Let's get a nice little place in Newcastle and Matilda can grow up with the weirdest combination of accents possible. Or Edinburgh, I hear Scotland's nice in the summer."

"You're being an ass."

"I don't know where this is coming from! I'm trying to figure it all out. Things have been working, haven't they?"

"You don't like the place in New York."

Harry takes a step toward her from his place in the doorway. "When have I ever said that?"

"Okay, maybe you do but it's _my_ house. It's my place not yours, not ours."

"I like your house."

"There's nothing new there, though. Every room is a place I've already made a million memories."

"So just because you and Calvin fucked in your bathtub means we can't?"

Taylor's mouth opens, angry, shuts and opens again. "You want to go there? Exactly how many Victoria Secret models have you fucked on this bed, Harry? Should we start with the ones I'm friends with?"

Harry wrings his hands behinds his own neck. His face is flushed, pink round the edges. "This is stupid. I don't understand how we got here."

"You're afraid to buy a home with me," Taylor says and her eyes are shining now, wet shimmer in the glow of the bedside lamp. "You don't want to commit to buying a home with me."

"Commit? This is about me not being able to fucking commit? Taylor, I'm already committed to you, she's right down the hall."

"A baby isn't the same as-"

"I was the one who wanted to get married, do you remember that?"

"An obligation is not the same as devotion!"

"I don't know what you want! Do you want a house? I'll buy you a house if you want me to Taylor, I'll sign a dotted line in a second. Pick out a fucking house and we'll move in there and I'll smile when you want me to."

Taylor's not looking at him anymore, head down. It's so quiet. 

"Every time we fight," she says, softly. "It feels like they're winning."

"Who's winning?" Harry asks, though he thinks he knows.

"I'm going to go to bed," Taylor says. She looks up at Harry and her eyeliner is smudged at the corners. "You can go."

"Go?"

"Sleep by the pool, in the kitchen, by your darling daughter, whatever you want. I don't care. But you're not sleeping next to me tonight."

She's standing now, fucking herding him towards the door. 

"You want me to sleep on the couch? Is that really what's happening here?"

"You have a million rooms to choose from, Harry, I'm sure you'll find a bed that won't hurt your back."

She shuts the door. Harry works his lip into his mouth, swallows tightly. He screws his eyes up for a second, rests his head against the door, then turns swiftly on his heel. 

He's already got his phone out, texting one handed: _You in LA?_

Louis' reply is quick: _yepp watching manu shit the bed against arsenal_

_Feel like going out?_

 

The night is so _Louis_ it hurts. They go to a club in Santa Monica with sixteen of Louis' closest, laddy friends. They're all wearing fucking khakis and Harry feels out of place in the only jumper he could find after getting kicked out of his own room shirtless. It's threadbare and Harry's nipples are definitely visible and Louis keeps laughing every time he looks over. 

The lads are a good buffer for him and Lou, though. It's been years since they've hung out together just the two of them, and Harry's not sure they'd be able to do it now. They're friendship is just so - big. Different. So much has happened between them that Louis will always be his friend but it'll never be quite the same. 

"So," Louis starts when his mates have gone off to play billiards and it's just the two of them at the table. "To what do I owe the pleasure? You're not usually gunning for a night out with me."

"Wanted to catch up."

"Sure."

Harry watches Louis give him the side-eye. He swallows down a quarter of his Manhattan and says, "And Taylor and I got into a fight."

"There it is." Louis grins. "I always was the best at relationship advice."

"I don't need advice I just-" Harry takes a deep breath. There are a group of beautiful girls over at the bar and one of them smiles at him. He turns his head back to Louis. "I just wanted a drink. Wanted to get out."

"Called the right place," Louis says, taking a long drink of his beer. "I'm always up for a night out."

The club's music takes over. They both stare at their drinks. It's like they've forgotten how to make small talk with each other. Five years touring the world and living in each other's pockets and Harry can't even open his mouth to ask how Bri and Freddie are. Ask if Louis' still with Danielle. 

Louis looks over at the pool table and his upper body shifts like he wants to join so Harry opens his mouth quick: "Have you heard from Zayn recently?"

Louis' eyes snap to his quick, whiplash. "What? Why are you asking that?"

"Just wondering."

"No."

"Okay."

"I mean," Louis shakes his head from side to side, slow. "Maybe a month ago. Ran into him at this club in London. We talked for a bit. It was weird, but fine."

"That's great, Lou."

"Why are you asking? Have you talked to Zayn?"

"What?" Harry hasn't talked to Zayn since he left. They almost bumped into each other for a year around LA but Harry knows back exits well. He was always gone before Zayn could get a second look. "You know I haven't."

"So weird," Louis says, eyes calculating. "You'd think Li and I would be the ones most undone by it, but you and Niall are the least forgiving fucks of us all."

Harry shrugs. It's not a grudge he just - doesn't have anything to say to him. Won't ever, maybe. Too many promises around campfires and in hotel beds, Zayn cuddled up behind Harry and singing little lullabies until they got the ringing out of their ears.

"Babies of the band," Louis says and his tone is a little softer. 

Harry smiles. He opens his mouth to say something along the lines of _speaking of babies_ when a loud entrance stops him. 

There are a group of guys at the front door. They're all obviously rich, expensive haircuts and cool t-shirts that seem to hang off them. Harry and Louis both raise their heads a bit, trying to see if they recognize anyone, when a tall man at the back turns and Harry feels his blood go cold.

"We have to go." He says, already reaching to finish off his drink.

"Go?" Louis says, irritated. "We just got here."

"Lou, I think it would be extremely good if we left this bar right now."

"Give me one fucking reason-"

At that moment a loud, Scottish voice calls over the din of the club: "Shots on me!"

"Oh," Louis says, eyes wide. "Yeah, we have to go."

"Thank you."

They head towards the back, past the pool tables. There's a bartender at the corner of the bar who looks very stressed, her eyes flickering to the new group of men. 

"Hi," Harry says, coaxing his dimples out. "I was wondering if the club has a back entrance?"

"It's employees only, sir," she says, without looking up from the pint she's pouring. She's gone the next second. 

"Let's just go anyway," Louis says, shrugging. "Not like they're going to stop us, it's packed in here."

"I don't want anyone to get in trouble."

"Oh my god, H."

"We'll just go through the front," Harry says, voice more confident than his beating heart. "He's at the bar and there's a million people. He might not even recognize us."

"Harry you have a fucking butterfly on your stomach," Louis says, pointing at Harry to emphasize. "I don't think he'll have a problem recognizing you."

The dance floor is packed as they make their way across it. The club is nice, not to Harry's own taste per se, but it has cute egg chairs dropping from the ceiling in the corners and the bar is sleek, black and stylish. 

"Just keep swimming," Louis is muttering under his breath as he stumbles behind Harry, both of their heads down. 

"Freddie like _Finding Nemo_ now?"

"Every fucking day. The telly's never not playing it."

Harry laughs. They're almost to the exit. This will make a good story someday, probably, how he narrowly escaped death at the hands of his girlfriend's ex. 

But then - "Oi! Louis!"

Louis turns. It's one of the guys that came in with the big group. He's got scruff around his chin and kind eyes. Harry vaguely recognizes him but he's coming towards them now, arms outstretched, grin on his face. 

"Louis Tomlinson!" he says, and then Louis and he are doing a dudebro handshake. He's British. "Thought that was you. How the fuck are you, mate?"

"I'm alright," Louis says, grin bright. "How're you, Mark? Saw the poor performance Chelsea put on last week, mate, you must be shattered."

"Fuck off!" Mark says, shoving Louis in the shoulder and this is all well and good, but Harry would like to leave this club with his testicles still attached to his body. He tugs at Louis' arm, urging them towards the door. 

"Ah, listen Mark, I've got to get going but lets do something this week."

"No problem. I'll text you-"

Harry sighs. Louis and he exchange one more handshake and then they're almost there. Harry gives one last look to the bar and his eyes catch on someone already looking at him.

Well. Shit. 

Harry's not seen Calvin Harris since that morning in Ed's kitchen when up was down. He looks the same as he's always done, except maybe with a bit of bag under his eye, though it's nothing compared to Harry's. Last Harry heard, Calvin was with this model called Georgie, who has legs for days. They were papped outside a restaurant snogging like it was the end of the world a month before Matilda was born. When the pictures broke Twitter, Harry made a quiet Taylor breakfast in bed. 

"Shit," Harry says out loud and then Calvin's coming towards them. 

There's no fanfare, no big declaration. Calvin's punch is swift and knocks Harry back three steps. 

The chatter in the club goes quiet. Calvin shakes out his hand. "You fucking prick."

"Let's go," Louis says, grabbing Harry's elbow. Harry keeps his head down, one hand on the cheekbone that's already swelling. 

"Fucking prick!" Calvin yells after them, though he doesn't follow. "Say hi to Taylor for me, you asshole!" 

The Santa Monica night air feels good on Harry's damp skin. There are shivers running up and down his spine. He's never gotten punched in the face before, never like this.

"Press are going to have a fucking field day," Harry says. His head hurts, feels woozy. 

"Do you need A&E?" 

"I'm fine."

"Haz, now isn't the time to be self-sacrificing."

"I'm fine, really." Harry shakes out his hair. "I deserved that. I needed that. Fuck, my head hurts."

Louis looks at him for a long moment. His eyes are sharp, small and too quick, but the rest of his face is still soft. Harry misses sharing secrets with him. 

"I think I have some frozen peas back home," Louis sighs, getting his phone out of his back pocket. "It'll help the swelling."

He presses the phone to his ear, gives their location. Harry closes his eyes. 

 

His eye is still bruised black on the plane back to New York. Taylor sits at the front with her legs stretched out and her headphones in, pretending to be asleep so she doesn't have to talk to Harry. Harry sits on the floor in the back next to Matilda's crib. 

"You're my favourite girl," he tells her, watching her wave her arms at him on the ground between his spread legs. "You're my very favourite."

"Fa!" she says, working one leg like she's riding a bike.

"Yeah," Harry says, smiling. He bends, lets their noses touch. "I would give it all up for you. Never write another song, if you asked."

She grabs onto the end of his hair and yanks. Matilda has the strength of a fucking cage fighter when she wants it. 

Harry tickles her side until she lets go and puts his hair up in a quick bun. He's been meaning to cut it for ages but keeps forgetting.

"There's a restaurant in Buenos Aires, right by the sea," Harry says, walking his fingers up and down Matilda's stomach. "They serve sundaes in these big, clear glasses that have little bubbles in them. I didn't get one, but Niall did - you remember Niall - and I stole some of his, and it was delicious. The best banana split I've ever had."

Matilda looks at him like she can understand every word.

"I'm going to take you there someday," Harry says. He feels so - full. "We're going to get ice cream there, you and me."

"Harry?"

Harry turns his head. Angela is smiling at him from her seat, body twisted to see him. "Pilot says we're an hour out."

"Thanks," he says, smiling until she turns back. He leans down again, presses his face right up against Matilda's until she's giggling. 

"Fa," she says, bright like a firecracker in his ear. "Da."

Harry presses his lips to her forehead and sings soft: " _Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night and wouldn't you love to love her?_ "

Matilda's left hand touches his chin. He pretends to chomp on it and she giggles. 

"We'll go everywhere," Harry says, laughing when Matilda lets out another little squeal. "Just the two of us."

 

December in New York smells like ozone, sky grey and heavy. There's a light powder of snow on the rooftops and brown slush in the gutters. Harry, who has never really been able to do any kind of cold, has taken to wearing several scarves around his neck whenever he leaves the house. When the temperature dips under -10 he refuses to move from his spot in the library, high pile of blankets on top of him and Matilda curled into his neck. 

Matilda's just eight months now and has adopted a funny little crawl. She moves her little arms like a walrus and Taylor posts daily videos on Instagram of Matilda wiggling her way over to Harry. The last one, where Taylor was crying _go! go!_ in the background and Harry swooped Matilda up in his arms, has three million likes already. 

They take a walk together through Washington Square Park when the weather gets a little nicer. There are a group of NYU students in fluffy infinity scarves near the archway and Harry steers clear of them, headed for the benches that are in view of the fountain. Matilda loves the fountain. In July she watched it for an hour while Harry sat down next to her stroller, chatting to his mum on the phone. 

It's not so cold today, but there's still a nip in the air so Matilda's tucked in with a few little hand-knitted scarves Andrea dropped off the last time she was in town. She looks very sweet in her little blue hat and not at all like the demon baby who threw a tantrum when Harry left her for her morning nap. 

"You've certainly changed your tune," Harry says, rolling her stroller back and forth. She's so quiet now, like she's got all her screams out. "I thought I was evil, remember? Remember when you cried for an hour this morning?"

Matilda blinks at him, serenely. 

The pediatrician warned them during their last trip, said in a tone all hushed: _separation anxiety_. She looked at Taylor when she said it, and Matilda does have the power to scream bloody murder when Taylor leaves every morning to record an album, but she's worse with Harry. 

Taylor tells him not to indulge her so much, but he can't help it. 

"Look at that juggler over there," Harry says, pointing across the park. Matilda looks at him instead, her big eyes wide. "He's awful silly. Promise me you won't try and work in the entertainment business when you're older, kid. That way lies nothing but trouble."

He takes Matilda's hand in its little red mitten and shakes it. She giggles.

"I'm not joking around," Harry starts but he's cut off by his phone vibrating loudly against his thigh. "Whoops. Probably your mum, love, give me a second. This conversation isn't over."

Harry slides the phone out of his pocket and checks the screen: _Nick Grimshaw_.

There was a show in Chile, the third of the new tour. It was one of those shows that he never really caught his breath during, spent the entire performance feeling like his skin was going to crawl right off his face and onto the floor. His lungs were contracting in and out like an accordion and there was a minute before _C'mon C'mon_ where he had to sit down, holding his hand to his chest for a minute. He can remember that moment so clearly, almost like he was watching it from afar rather than experiencing it directly. Harry can still see himself sitting there, 85,000 people around him screaming, a hand over his chest.

That's what Nick's phone call feels like.

Harry watches himself slide the answer button across the screen and put the phone to his ear. There's a squirrel across the park running up a tree and Matilda points at it. She lets out a little squeal as Harry says, "Hello?"

"Hi."

Harry blinks. 

"Harry?" Nick says. His voice is rough around the edges, like it gets when he's tired and has had a long day of talking. "Am I calling at a bad time?"

"No," Harry says. He coughs into his fist. "How- why are you calling?"

Nick laughs. "Um. There was a caller on the show this morning from Swansea who was talking about how there isn't enough jam in Jammie dodgers."

"Oh my god." 

"Yeah," Nick says, laughing, and Harry finds himself joining in. "So then she tells me sometimes she opens up the biscuits to put more jam in them."

"I told you!" Harry shouts, ignoring the way a pigeon flutters away at the noise. "I told you I wasn't the only one!"

"I had to call you, it was too much of a coincidence."

"Well, it's the only way to eat a Jammie dodger, so…"

"You're a fucking loony, Harry Styles."

"A fucking loony with great ideas. I need to find that woman. We could write a book together."

"'Jamming with Harry and Carol'."

"'Harry and Carol: The Jammy Dodgers'."

They laugh together. Matilda is falling asleep in her stroller and New York is alive around him, but Harry feels like he's in London, then. Like nothing's changed. 

"I miss you," Harry says after an unbearable silence. He wants to ask about the coach, the _someone_ , but he doesn't. "What's happening in your life right now? I want to know everything."

"Fiona got a haircut."

"No way."

"Yes way," Nick says, smile in his voice. "She's got fringe now."

"I can't imagine Fiona with fringe."

"It's a good look." Harry presses his hand over his mouth, tries to hold back in his smile. He's always been so fucking - so stupid around Nick. "Daisy and I have started doing yoga together on the Hill. My thighs are on fire all the time."

"I told you _ages_ ago to give yoga a chance."

"We can't all be nimble youths like you though, Styles. Some of us have shaky knees and an inclination for chips and gravy."

"One day I'm going to take you to Montreal so you can have poutine," Harry says, unthinking. "And then you'll realize that chips and gravy are not enough."

There's a few beats of silence before Nick speaks again: "Always up for a cheese curd, me."

Harry bites his lip. The last time he was in Montreal, before he went on _that_ poutine rant, he had some in a little restaurant near the old port. He sent a picture to Nick and thought distantly, way in the back of his head, that maybe they could have it together sometime. Maybe that was in their future.

Weird thing to be sentimental about, fries and cheese, but Harry's always been contrary.

"Are you coming home for Christmas?" Nick asks, soft now. 

"Of course," Harry says. He reaches for Matilda's hand, holds it carefully in his own. It's nice to have something to hold. "Spending a week up at my mums. What about you? Jetting off to some island with Chung?" 

"Not on Christmas, babe," Nick says. "Never on Christmas. Chez Grimshaw is good enough for me."

"How are Pete and Eileen?"

"Pete twisted his ankle trying to clean their rain gutters," Nick says, tired, like he's already recounted this story a million times. "So Mum's losing it because she's fetching him things every second. She told me the other day that he's being 'Downright unreasonable'. It's like she just found this out."

"Always so mean to Pete."

"He's going to be a right arse this holiday season. We're going to have to hide the good china."

Harry laughs. It's getting cooler on the bench. He should start getting them home. 

"How is the little baby?" Nick asks. His voice is kind. Harry wants to dissect every inch of it with gloves on, pick apart Nick's voice patterns and scream _what does this mean? Do you still love me?_

"The little baby is good. Little baby is asleep at the minute."

Nick breathes in a small gasp. "Is the little baby right there?"

"She is," Harry says, smiling. "She's been really good recently, so I'm sure she'll be an absolute terror on the flight over."

"Babies aren't meant for flying, Harry, it hurts their little ears." 

"Mm. I know my mum's excited to see her, though. She's always saying I don't post enough photos of her."

"You don't," Nick says which - what? What did that mean?

"Think she unfollowed me on Instagram," Harry says, trying to keep his heart in his chest at the thought of Nick checking up on him. "Mum just follows Taylor now."

"As she should," Nick says, laughing. "That picture of the little foot the other day? Adorable."

"You know you can meet her in person," Harry says. He hopes he sounds casual. "Mum's doing a big roast on Christmas day. You could - you should come."

The response is immediate - "I don't think that's a great idea."

"You haven't met my daughter yet, Nick," Harry says, twisting his mouth into a frown. "And Mum misses you and so does Gem and you're the only person I've ever seen who can make Robin cry with laughter-"

"Harry." His voice is stern like a teacher. 

"It would be so good to have you there. Like old times."

"Harry, love," Nick says and he sounds so tired. Harry wonders if he's been eating breakfast lately. "It's really hard to be around you right now. You understand that, right?"

"Yeah," Harry says, dropping his head. 

He does, of course, but he also doesn't, not really. Harry's always been the textbook charmer. He doesn't have break ups, just falls apart gradually with people and then invites them to his birthday. It's hard and weird and fucking - he doesn't like that Nick doesn't want to see him. He hates that Nick's definitely spent time eating ice cream and ranting about him with Aimee. 

"It's too soon for me to see you as a happy family, you know?" Nick continues. "I'm not sure if I'll ever be ready for that."

"I understand," Harry says and shit, oh fuck, his voice cracks. He knows his eyes are leaking so he shuts them tight. "I definitely understand. I'm sorry I asked, I just - I miss you. A lot. Every day."

Nick's voice is hesitant a few seconds later. "Harry, where are you?"

"On a bench," Harry says, running his hand under his nose and sniffing, hard. "In Washington Square Park."

"You're crying on a bench in a public park?"

"There's just something about phone calls with you," Harry says, trying to laugh. "That leave me crying on a bench." 

Nick doesn't say anything to that. Too much honesty too soon. 

"I'll try and come on Christmas," Nick says, really soft. "Liv's bringing her new boyfriend home so I might need an escape anyways. And Pete, of course. I mentioned Pete's ankle, right?"

"You mentioned Pete's ankle."

"I will try. I'll - I'll be there, okay? Just stop crying, you probably look crazy."

Harry laughs, wipes at his face.

"Better buy me something nice," Nick says, all bravado now. "I don't want a selection box from you, Styles. I want one of those fur-lined robes like Miley Cyrus has. Or a jet ski."

"You're too good to me, Grim," Harry whispers. 

"Maybe," Nick says. 

Harry looks up. There are a group of German tourists in the park now, watching in a little circle as a man spray painted gold dances. Matilda's tuckered out, little mouth open and soft. Harry is twenty-three years old and the sun is shining. 

"I'll talk to you later, okay?" Nick asks, and Harry can hear barking in the background. "Pig's just seen a squirrel in the garden and lost her mind. We need to go on a walk now, or my new Nikes will be taken hostage."

"Go," Harry says, biting his lip so he doesn't laugh too loud. "I've got my own baby to get walking."

"See you at Christmas, H."

"Bye," Harry says. They both stay on the line for another second before Nick hangs up. 

It's a half hour walk home from the park. Harry pushes Matilda's stroller down Broadway, his hair tucked up under his beanie. 

The first time he came to New York was with the boys. They stayed in a hotel with gold chandeliers and had champagne in the toilet of Niall's room, their hands shaking so much with excitement they could hardly get the cork off. Harry fell asleep that night in Liam's bed, buzzed off champagne, with Liam whispering in his ear that he thought Danielle was _the one, really Haz_. 

New York has always felt like that: too much, too big, too soon. 

But here, with his baby and the streets familiar, it doesn't feel so bad. It feels, maybe, like home. 

 

Per Styles tradition they get to open one present each on Christmas Eve. Matilda's Papa helps her open a little Harrods bear Harry's nan must have sent and it looks so sweet in her small fists. She nearly clocks Robin in the face with it but he can't stop smiling at her for anything. 

"She's so big," Harry's mum says, after, when Matilda lets out a particularly loud noise from her sprawl on the carpet. She's been saying it since Robin and she picked them up from the Liverpool airport five days ago.

"Our doctor says she's just under the average weight for a baby of her age," Harry says. He holds out his thumb and Matilda latches onto it. "She's still just little, though."

"Enjoy it while it lasts," she says. "You'll blink and one day your baby will be playing Wembley Stadium."

She puts her hand on Harry's forehead, delves her fingers into his hair.

"I hope she becomes a social worker," Harry says without really thinking about it. "Or not like - a social worker, like she can be anything she wants. But I really want her to live a normal life. I don't want her to do this just because we do."

"She'll make that decision when she's ready."

"Mm."

"You must already see pieces of it," Anne says, smiling real soft. "Matilda having a personality outside of you or Taylor. It's odd at first, isn't it?"

"I don't think I'll be able to take it if she grows up and hates the music I like. Or - god, Mum, what if she hates my songs?"

Anne laughs.

Taylor pops her head out of the kitchen then. She's been in there with Gemma since they finished opening presents, watching a slide show of photos from Gem's impulsive trip to Colombia in October.

"I was thinking of making shortbread cookies," Taylor says, hands already covered with a pair of oven mitts that Harry bought for Robin in Spain. They have little Matadors on. "Would that be okay?"

If she's baking it means Gemma must have gone up to bed. Gem never willingly cooks anything. She once made Harry a tofu spinach stir fry and he almost died of shock. And food poisoning.

"That sounds wonderful," Anne says, smiling. She always liked Taylor. "Do you need some help?

"No, no, you enjoy yourself." She turns to Harry, looks at him expectantly. "Harry?"

"Ughhhh," Harry groans. He pushes himself up to his feet. Anne laughs brightly and holds Matilda to her chest.

"Stop complaining. You love baking."

"I don't know who gave you this false information," Harry says, "but they need to be stopped. Lying is wrong."

Taylor whacks him on the shoulder with a spatula as he enters the kitchen. It gets flour all over the sweater Niall sent him. It's green like a forest and came with a card that said: _Things will work themselves out. Take a deep breath. BTW - tell Mattie to start packing, I'm taking her to Disneyland._

"Dictator."

"I prefer enforcer of fun," Taylor says, knocking her bony hip against his bony hip. There is a good chance Matilda is going to grow up to be the tallest, boniest string bean in the world.

"How's the fam?"

"They're good." Taylor spent an hour on Skype with them this morning and has already planned a proper Christmas date for tomorrow. "It's weird not seeing them for Christmas."

"We'll see them when we get back," Harry says, thinking of the flight information his PA had sent him on the 20th. All booked for Boxing Day. "And there's always next year."

"Mm" Is all Taylor says.

Harry stops short, putting the bag of flour down on the counter-top. "You're okay with us being here for Christmas, right? Because we did say that after spending Thanksgiving in Tennessee-"

"It's fine," Taylor says, taking a jar of sugar from the cupboard. It's white and fine, not anything like the crumbly brown sugar Anne used to put on his porridge in the winter when he was a lad. 

"Really fine?"

"Yes, really fine." Taylor sweeps her hair up into a bun, matching Harry's own. "We'll see my parents when we get back and it's nice that Matilda gets to see her nan."

"Swear?"

"Swear."

Harry stares her down, but Taylor doesn't appear to be bluffing. They turn to their mess of ingredients on the counter and start mixing the flour and sugar. 

"You know what this reminds me of?" Harry asks. Taylor shakes her head. "That time when we stayed at your place in LA. Your mum had left for the night and Meredith was asleep on me and you said 'Hey, do you want to make pie?' So we did."

Taylor smiles. "Pecan."

"It was delicious."

"Meredith wasn't too happy when you stood up. She scratched you up good."

"Still got the scar," Harry says, twisting his arm around to see at the back of it. It might not be a very _visible_ scar but that doesn't mean it's not there. 

"Always getting scars around me," Taylor says, tapping his chin twice. "Should wrap you up in bubble wrap. That's what my mom did when Austin and I learned how to ride a bike."

"No way you did."

"Um, yes way we did." Harry laughs. "The neighbours were looking at us from the window, we looked insane. I had a purple sparkly helmet."

"Of course you did."

"Oooh, and I put a Spice Girls sticker on it."

"Gotta slow it down, baby," Harry says and Taylor laughs, bumps their hips together. 

Together they've always been an unstoppable baking team. Harry loves getting his hands dirty in the dough, has always opted for his own two hands over a spatula. And Taylor is incredible at weird flavour combinations and can make any colour icing you want. They decorate together, which usually goes off without a hitch-

"Tay _lor_ -"

"Calm down, Styles."

"You ruined my snowman."

"Snow _person_."

"You're the worst."

"I know you are but what am I?"

Harry laughs then, Taylor joining him. In the other room the score from _It's a Wonderful Life_ starts up. Robin's low voice murmurs along with Anne's, so he must be done from calling his sister.

"We were good friends," Harry says, looking down at the messy counter and decorated little biscuits. "I really liked hanging out with you, once we both like - stopped being weird, and then like stopped - uh, sleeping together all the time. We were good friends. And I'm really glad that could happen."

Taylor smiles. "Me too."

She leans forward, pressing a smacking kiss on his mouth. Harry smiles against her lips and turns back to the biscuits. 

 

Christmas dinner is squash and stuffing, roasted, golden potatoes and the same turkey from Harry's childhood, brown and crisp and perfect. He spends the whole morning in the kitchen with mum while the rest of them watch Matilda sit in various positions, holding herself up for a little bit more at a time. She's getting better at sitting every day and with her cheering team of Taylor, Gem and Robin, she's showing off proper. 

She'll be as bad as the two of them in no time.

"When are the Grimshaws coming?" Anne asks as they fill the decorative plates they only use for Christmas and Easter. 

"It's only Nick, I think," Harry says. He adjusts the dried, pressed flowers Gemma found in an old book of hers, arranges them on the plate under the gravy. "Pete's in lock down until his ankle heals."

"Eileen told me about that," Anne says. She casts a side look over at Harry. "It's sweet that Nick can make it. I imagine he'll bring Aimee."

"Aimee's with Ian in New York. And Nick's coming because I asked him to."

"Hm."

"What was that _hm_ for?"

"Nothing, darling. Should we call in the monsters to help us bring the plates to the table?"

"No, what's the _hm_ for?"

Anne grabs his shoulder, presses her thumb up against his neck like she did before his first school dance, his first X Factor show, when he walked her down the aisle. 

"Harry, I think you know what it was for."

She presses just a bit deeper with her thumb. Harry looks down at their matching socks, a present from Gemma, and nods. 

"Shall we call them in?" Anne asks, as delicate as a meringue. 

Harry nods again. The monsters come in to help move dishes. Taylor drops Matilda into his arms and he makes silly faces while getting her into her high chair. She's wearing a gold red dress that Ella sent her for Christmas from Cambodia.

"Da da da da da," she chatters in his face, sticking her hand up into his cheek. 

"That's right, baby, dad," Harry says, adjusting her little hands to fit the high seat table over her. "No mums here. Nope, nope, nope."

"Are you trying to corrupt our child?" Taylor asks as she sets down a bowl brimming with garlic roasted potatoes.

"Taylor, can we leave baseless accusations for tomorrow? It's the Lord's Day."

He gets a good flick on the ear for that, followed by a bout of sweet laughter. As she's known to do, Matilda joins in with her own giggles, looking between them with a big gummy smile on her face.

"Your daddy is awfully silly, isn't he?" Taylor asks, putting her nose in Matilda's ear. Matilda shrieks, delighted. "He is a silly bean, isn't he?"

"Da da da da."

Taylor shoots him an arched eyebrow over her shoulder. "You know I've bet a lot of money that her first word is going to be Mommy."

"Prepare to lose." Harry has also bet a lot of money over this. At this point it's just a matter of pride. 

Gem sets up a playlist of Christmas songs over the house speakers and they dig in to their Christmas feast, Sufjan Stevens blending into the Military Wives Choir with only the occasional wince. Matilda eats almost all of the squash and potatoes that Harry meticulously mashed up for her, and only turns her nose at the green beans. Harry chalks the whole thing up to a Christmas miracle. 

At a quarter to four the doorbell rings and Harry's heart drops to his knees. 

"I know who that is," Gemma says, grinning, before taking off to answer the door. 

"I hope he likes the trifle," Anne says, folding her dinner napkin off her lap and onto the table. "He mentioned on the show that he was giving up gluten-"

"Mum, this is Nick," Harry says, smile only a little wobbly. Everything could fall apart so spectacularly. "He once told me he was gone off dairy and then ordered a milkshake. The trifles will be fine."

"Hm," Anne says but she's interrupted by loud cackles from the front foyer. 

"Is this going to be weird?" Taylor asks him as they stand to greet Nick. Harry grabs Matilda and holds her in his arms, not unlike a shield. "I feel like this is going to be weird."

"It's not going to be weird."

"Really?"

"You like Nick."

"I hardly know Nick."

"Everybody likes Nick."

They've reached the foyer now and Nick is - he's there. 

There are approximately three thousand five hundred miles between London and New York City. Harry's spent every single one imagining what it would be like to see Nick again. 

His hair's different - slightly shaggy at the sides like he never lets it get. Harry likes it longer. Reminds him of the first time they ever shook hands, at that one dinner sixteen million years ago. Nick's wearing glasses too, which he's doing a lot more recently according to Instagram. It makes him look smart. 

He looks good. Really, really good. Harry hitches Matilda up higher in his arms, tries not to squeeze her too tight.

"...Eileen wouldn't let me leave until I had something in my hands to bring over. And I told her, didn't I, that you would already have enough going on, but she insisted. So here's some brandy."

"Oh, thank you. That's very sweet."

"Does anyone even like brandy?" Nick asks as he hooks his long arms around Anne's neck. She laughs and it fills the whole house. "I thought only nans drank that stuff."

"Well you're speaking to a nan."

"How could I forget? Robin! How nice to see you! I've learned fifteen new things about United to impress you with."

Nick's passed around the circle like a new puppy, throwing compliments and hugs and being horrifically charming. Harry can remember Matt Fincham calling the two of them devils together, an unstoppable charm offensive. He misses being a double act with Nick. 

"Taylor Swift, if you could stop being so radiant for a minute, really, you're giving me a complex."

Taylor laughs, hugs Nick tight. Harry's stomach does a weird thing. 

"H," Nick says when he's reached him and then there's a long arm coming across his shoulder, pulling him tight into Nick's chest on one side. Harry's eyelids droop without thinking. He's so tall and grown up and god, he smells good, how could Harry have forgotten that?

Nick doesn't appear to be lost in a similar Harry-daze because he drops his arm too soon and leans back, eyes on Matilda. 

"She's so small," he says and it almost sounds unconscious. 

"Do you want to hold her?" 

Harry doesn't wait for Nick's answer. He jostles Matilda's face up to his own and says: "Hey love. Wanna meet Grimmy?"

She doesn't seem particularly enthused but is gamely passed on to Nick, her eyes locked on Harry's the whole time. That is until Nick's hands, so careful around Matilda's back, tickle her around the tummy. Then she's laughing brightly, staring up at his big face in wonder like babies do. 

"Hi baby. God, you're a little cutie, aren't you?"

"Fa."

"Oh my god, she called me Fa. I'm Fa."

"I'm Fa too," Robin says, smiling. "Not to burst your bubble, Nicholas."

"It's okay. We can both be Fa."

"I made two trifles, Nick, I hope you're hungry."

"Starved. I only ate three courses and a pound of Christmas pudding."

"Excellent. Here, I'll go get the plates out-"

"Hazza didn't help with the trifle making, did he? Poor boy doesn't know a thing about them."

"Oi! I seem to recall you liking my trifle a great deal."

"Hush, Harry, there are baby ears present. Your terrible voice is going to scare her off."

They arrange themselves in the living room, trifle teetering on plates teetering on laps. Nick and Matilda sit in the centre, staring at each other. Nick's long everywhere and Matilda's soft and cute and tiny. It's a sweet sight. 

Matilda keeps reaching for Nick's chin and giggles every time he intercepts her hand, shaking it like they just solved world hunger together. He keeps calling her doll. She looks at him like she looks at bright lights and the cats and that fountain in Washington Square Park.

"We've been replaced," Taylor says, morosely. Gemma laughs.

Harry's as transfixed as Mattie. He knew that Nick is the baby whisperer, can get his godchildren to sleep in record time. But it's different with Matilda. He expected to be jealous like he always is when Matilda smiles at someone else.

Maybe he is jealous but he's not jealous of Nick.

"Tone down the smile there, pal," Gemma whispers in his ear.

He looks at her. She's got purple bruises around her eyes from late nights at work and her ponytail is off centre. Gemma can read him like a book. She knew he had a crush on Kathryn Bishop in year four before Harry could work up the nerve to mention it at dinner. Gemma is so beautiful and he's so transparent to her.

"I'm being careful."

"I know that look."

"Don't tell Rudy this," Nick is saying to Matilda, one hand flapping around in the air, the other resting just behind her back in case she falls. "But you might just be the cutest thing I've ever seen. It used to be when Rudy sneezed when he was two and fell over. But I think you win, doll."

Matilda watches him, mouth hanging open. Harry can relate. 

Taylor joins them on the floor after a little bit, helping Mattie dance while Nick sings an off-key version of Kanye West's _Gold Digger_. Gemma provides the beat-boxing. Harry wishes he could do something other than watch his - family. 

"Scrabble?" Anne says when they've all forgotten how the third verse goes, shaking the board just like Harry does. Everyone whose name isn't Styles rolls their eyes. 

"I'll sit out this round," Nick says. He's got Matilda tucked up under his chin now, lying almost horizontal on the couch. She's sucking away on her pacifier, big eyes drifting slowly shut. 

"No you won't, you can be my partner."

"H-"

"Really. Come be my partner."

Nick grumbles the whole way over to the dining room table where Anne sets up the board. It's their original copy, a bit frayed around the edges. They have the deluxe version that spins for when Anne has one of her book nights, but this is their real copy. It's the one Harry's played on every time he came home from a world tour. It's their thing.

"Are we allowed to be double acts now?" Taylor asks, eyebrows raised. "Robin, do you want to form a coalition?"

Robin shakes her hand. They take their seats. 

"You're going down, Styles," Taylor says, eyes all narrowed. Matilda's sat on her lap, eyes just at table level. "Do you want me to call an ambulance? Because you're going to need it." 

"You keep thinking that."

"Oooh, Harry, we got a K is that good?"

Harry is really regretting making Nick's only job be picking the tiles. 

They play a round and a half before Matilda starts crying. She's got a dummy that attaches to her dress and it sways while she cries, face red and eyes all glassy. Harry sniffs her bum and gives Taylor a nod. Taylor sighs, stands, holds her hands out. 

"Alright, honey, we'll get you fed. And changed."

"You going to put her down?" Harry asks, helping Taylor get a good grip on Mattie. 

"Yeah. Think I might join her."

"Mm." Harry kisses Matilda's little red head. She cries through it. "Let me know if you need me."

"I will." Taylor stoops to grab the little Harrods bear off the carpet in the living room. "Thank you for an amazing Christmas, Anne. Matilda says thank you too."

"Of course," Anne says, following behind her to give Matilda little smiles, even as she whimpers into Taylor's neck. "I've got her washing, I'll bring it up so you don't forget it when you leave tomorrow."

Harry stays in his spot, hands at the back of his chair. Robin goes to follow Anne up the stairs, Gem into the kitchen for more food. It's really quiet. 

"Sweet baby, Haz."

"Thank you."

Harry keeps his eyes on his socks. Nick looks too good to not be kissed. It's Christmas and it fits - they all fit. His family is perfect and Nick needs to be here. Nick is essential. Nick is the last piece of the puzzle. 

"You look good. Really good."

Harry flicks his eyes up to meet Nick's retreating gaze. "Nick-"

"The last of the shortbread, as requested!" Gemma calls, plate in her hands and a grin on her face. 

Nick's eyes say this isn't the last of it. 

The defence is coming apart. The radar's gone fuzzy with tinsel and one too many eggnogs. There's no shield this time, no sweet baby to block Harry from Nick's quick mouth and kind eyes. 

Harry takes a deep breath and prepares for battle. 

 

 _Doctor Who_ ends at nine which means it's time for bed. Gemma nodded off halfway through and Harry's not entirely sure what was happening for the entire episode as he never watches the show outside of Christmas. It's a good tradition though, one brought to them by Robin. Before he was around, clapping Harry on the back and being the very best dad, they used to watch reruns of _Keeping Up Appearances_ and he and Gem were allowed to fall asleep together on the couch. 

He kind of misses their old tradition. But he doesn't miss a life without Robin. 

Harry slips outside the back door as Robin leads his mum up the stairs. There's a heavy Christmas haze over the sky, blocking out all the romance, the stars, the moon. The slightest twinkle of frost over the farm behind the fence makes the breath settle in Harry's chest.

The door slides open behind him.

"Happy Christmas, Nick," Harry says after a long minute.

"Happy Christmas, Harry."

Nick's shadow stretches long against the porch light as he sidles closer to Harry. Their eyes meet. Nick's got eyelashes like spider legs and his eyes are less toffee in the dark.

"Trifle was good."

"I missed you."

"I liked the pudding level. I'll have to get the recipe. Course, if I do I'll be the size of a house by New Years."

"Did you hear me?"

Nick looks down. His fingers fidget on the porch rail. He nods.

"You have a beautiful family, H."

"Matilda's perfect."

"I didn't just mean Matilda."

"I miss you."

"You've said that already."

"How's the boy?"

"What?"

"The boy," Harry says louder. He can't get the image of Nick's hands on Matilda out of his head. "How is the boy."

"Erik?"

Harry's not surprised. Harry's known his name since the first video on Twitter, the one where Nick was laughing too hard for Erik to feed him a forkful of Colette's birthday cake. 

"We're taking a break."

His head snaps up. "You broke up?"

"We're taking a break."

"You broke up with Erik."

"Now, Hazza, I know you're not deaf, so I'm only going to say this one more time. We're taking a-"

Harry's lips land at the side of Nick's nose but he's quick to work them down. Nick's skin tastes the same but his mouth tastes like trifle and Christmas and it's so warm and soft and familiar. Harry puts his hand on Nick's jumper at the waist, tries to fit his fingers in between Nick's ribs so they can never be separated, can never spend three thousand five hundred miles apart ever again. 

"Bad idea," Nick whispers, breath hot at Harry's cheek. 

"Don't care."

  
[ ](http://imgur.com/4iLCRBK)  


He sucks the chocolate off Nick's lip until he just tastes like Nick and flesh again. Nick's tongue slides against his, then up, licking along the roof of his mouth. He skims over every ridge and it makes Harry's knee go wobbly. He grabs at Nick's shoulders to stable himself, then gets bored there, slips his hands under the collar of Nick's shirt. There are fingers at Harry's ear, fingers reaching in to pull him closer. They snag at his hair and oh - snap - keep going into a fist that makes Harry's cock stir. 

"You have a girlfriend."

"I don't care."

"We can't do this."

"Then stop."

Harry touches the shaved smooth of Nick's throat. He rubs his thumb up and down until Nick makes that sound he always does, the one that echoes like a wet wind. Nick's fingers are dipping at Harry's collarbone, his assortment of bangles sliding over chilled skin. There's a constellation of goose flesh down Harry's neck and god - his lips - 

"I can't kiss you."

"Too late for that."

"No, no-" and fuck, Nick's stepping away now. Harry reaches for him, tries to get his fingers against Nick's ribs again and do it better this time, but Nick pushes his hand away. His mouth is red like it always is after they kiss. 

"You don't get this part of me."

"Of course I do!" Harry says, loud, too loud. He doesn't care if the whole house hears him. He feels hot and cold. "I get you, and you get me. That's how it's supposed to end, Nick. That's what everything has been leading to."

"It feels more like you get me and I get to sit at home and watch you talk about your perfect family on American talk shows."

"I'm not going to apologize for having a daughter."

"This isn't about Matilda, Harry." Nick's in his fighting stance, eyes wide and mouth buttoned up. "This is about you. You've got to take responsibility sometime, darling."

Harry looks at his feet. He didn't bother with shoes when he came out here and the cool concrete porch is creeping in through the homemade holes in his socks. 

"You said forever," Nick says, voice dry. "And you left after a month."

"It wasn't my choice."

"Did you ask me to move to New York?"

Their breath is turning white in front of them. Harry looks out at the damn field for a long second before he chances Nick's gaze. It's as harsh as he expected.

"Nick-"

"Did you ask me to move to New York with you?"

"No."

"Did you try to come up with a different plan with Taylor?"

Harry swallows. "No."

In the darkness a cow calls out a lonely greeting. Harry thinks about Niall, about his Christmas in Ireland. The music will still be going in Mullingar. There will be laughter until they fall asleep, bellies full and beers empty. 

"Things don't work out unless you try," Nick says, soft now. "And you and me? We were doomed from the start."

"You don't love me."

"For fuck's sake."

"What?"

"You're such a fucking narcissist, I swear to God. I take back everything I've ever said about being full of myself because you are the worst, Harry Styles."

"Tell me you don't love me," Harry says, hot white speech against the cool air. He can feel his eyes stinging; they're itchy, childish. "Tell me that Nick. Tell me and I'll leave you alone."

"It's fucking freezing out here."

"Tell me you could never love a narcissistic, jealous, careless asshole like me. Just say it."

Nick looks at him. Half his face is cast in shadows from the porch lamp, other half too bright like gas stations on the sides of interstates; hard to look at. 

The silence stretches, lounges. Nick doesn't say a word. 

"Are you crying?" Nick asks, a minute later, voice tired. 

"No."

"You sure?"

"Grim, please."

Nick's eyes are careful as Harry wipes his face with his sleeve. 

"Just what I imagined for Christmas," Nick says halfheartedly. "A cute baby, a stupid fight, and a boatload of trifle. Santa definitely got my letter this year."

"Why did you come?" Harry asks, looking at his fingers. He thinks about Nick's ribs again, thinks about how they look in bed.

"You asked me to."

"Nick."

"You did."

"Why, Nick?"

"Because I-" Nick stops himself, bites his lip. "Because you were crying. And I can't tell you no, when- Shit."

Harry looks up, watches Nick close his eyes. 

"I'm not the only one, right?"

"The only one?"

Nick smiles small, looks somewhere that isn't Harry. "I'm not the only one who drops everything when you cry, am I? Please tell me I'm not."

Harry stills. He thinks of lying in that stranger's bed with Niall and all those things Niall said about him that were true. He thinks about crying and how Niall called him _darling_. 

"No," Harry says. "You're not the only one."

"What are we doing, H?"

The porch rail is cool under Harry's elbows. He slumps over it, closes his eyes. Nick joins him a second later. 

"We're in love," Harry says, wishing he could just go to sleep. "And we're dealing with it rather badly, I think."

He hears Nick swallow. 

It takes a minute to stop being scared. His eyes peep out from under his eyelashes and he tilts his head slowly to see Nick's face in the darkness. Nick is looking ahead at the lightly dusted Holmes Chapel night, but he blinks his eyes over to Harry after a second.

Several lines bubble up against Harry's mouth. Lines he's written over the years on long flights, lines he's pieced together while laying under Nick's sweaty arm in bed. None of them seem to fit. 

Nick moves slowly. He reaches out his hands, cups Harry's face between them. Harry closes his eyes, instinctual, feels a hot wetness press against the brim of his eyelids. A finger strokes down the shell of Harry's left ear and then lips - lips, soft moonbeam freckled lips, press the world's sweetest kiss on his forehead.

The door slides open. It slides shut. 

Harry's face is cold without Nick's grip. He stays outside until it reaches his toes. 

 

It rains the next morning as Gemma drives them to the airport. Matilda wakes up in a mood to rival her dads and they storm together in the backseat while Taylor hums along with the radio. A grey Liverpool waves goodbye to them as the plane ascends and the elevation sends Matilda into tears.

The Swifts arrive the afternoon of the twenty-seventh. Cabin fever is just setting in, especially as Taylor's one of those people that needs the house to be fucking perfect before her mother visits. Harry spends the morning washing dishes from a baking spree and the night smiling winningly, playing the part of the dutiful father.

"She's getting bigger every second!"

"That's what Anne kept saying."

"Her little boots are just darling."

"Matilda got about a thousand presents." Taylor nudges Harry with an elbow, smiling. "She's already spit up on about a thousand dollars worth of Dolce and Gabbana."

"Who bought her that?"

"They sent it to us."

"Oh, of course." Andrea takes a sip of her white wine. "I saw the giant ostrich in her room. It's so odd."

"My friend, Nick, got that for her." Harry plays with the melted ice cream along the bottom of his shallow bowl, spoon drawing little shapes in it. Scott's already in the other room watching hockey and he knows he should join him, knows that would look good. "He found it in this tiny shop in London that hand-makes soft toys. She won't sleep without it now."

Taylor's gaze burns along his forehead even as she says: "Getting it through customs was a nightmare."

The slight tension is broken by Matilda, who burps loudly from her spot in the high chair. She's blinking hard, like she'd been asleep and just burped herself awake. Taylor laughs for four straight minutes. 

The week goes on much like that. Harry spends his days writing in the study when he can, a bit desperate to get away from the aggressive Swift family bonding. He joins them to go skating at the Rockefeller Centre with two burly security guards. Scott stays on the other side of the boards with Matilda, who has approximately sixteen layers on. Harry spins Taylor around the rink and begs himself to be happy. 

The night before New Years, Austin and his girlfriend, Isabella, come down from Boston. They go out to eat at a place on the Upper East side. Isabella is sweet, a physics major from Boston College who gets all tongue tied when Taylor and he smile at her at the same time. Austin seems to adore her though and the dinner goes really well except that Harry almost falls asleep in his food. He's not been sleeping great lately.

Five years travelling the world and sleeping on airport couches in between flights and now he can't even close his eyes without feeling Nick's kisses all over his body. 

"Isabella is so darling, isn't she?" Taylor asks, later, when they're in bed. She's facing him, hands curled up under her chin, so he moves to face her as well.

"She's really smart. We should record tapes of her speaking and play it when Matilda sleeps." 

"Perfect."

Harry lets his eyes close. They feel heavy and go warm when his eyelids meet like a long hug after a long day. He hears the sound of skin across sheets and then Taylor's calloused fingertips are touching his cheek. 

"Austin says her spring break is the first week of March. They were thinking of flying down to Puerto Rico or something."

"Sounds nice."

"He invited us. If you wanted to go."

Harry opens one eye. Taylor is watching him carefully.

"It sounds nice."

"So you want to go?"

"I don't know yet." Harry shifts his hip, brushes their legs together accidentally. Taylor moves her leg closer to her own side. "March is a couple months away. We have time to talk it over."

"You think you'll be busy in March?"

Harry holds in a sigh. Taylor is like a skilled hunter when she wants to be, lying traps for Harry to accidentally step in. It was worse when they first dated, him tiptoeing around her whenever her eyebrows would arch up. He's gotten good at it, practiced.

"It sounds really nice, Taylor."

Her fingertips feel rough as they stroke down the shell of his ear. She's always teased him for his ears, just like the boys do, says they're too small. He watches her and she watches him back. 

Harry doesn't fall asleep for ages. 

 

They ring in the New Year like everyone else on the planet, an expensive bottle of champagne and cheers. Taylor's smile presses to his as they hold their champagne flutes above their heads. Her kiss tastes like brie and pigs in a blanket. 

"Matilda!" Taylor calls, pulling away. Mattie is sitting on the floor in front of them, clutching her ostrich with one hand and peering at the screen, confused. Taylor scoops her up and kisses her all over. 

She squirms, squeals. Harry joins in, pressing little pecks to the soft bit of Matilda's elbow. Her big, bright, almost-green eyes stare into his own, even as Taylor swings her back and forth. 

"Love you," Harry says, quiet, before Andrea's tugging him into a hug.

The party disperses after that. Harry sits on the couch with a sleeping Matilda in one arm as Andrea and Scott help Taylor scrub the dishes in the kitchen. Austin and Isabella are curled up next to the fireplace, watching an episode of _Bob's Burgers_ on his laptop. 

Harry gets his phone out, scrolls through Instagram, holding his breath. He passes by a picture of Gemma's Olivia with a party hat on her head, likes one of Jeff and Glenne with cake all over their faces, and then it's - 

Alexa and Nick on a beach in the Mediterranean Sea. The photo's blurry as shit and dark but he can see what he needs to, their mouths pressed together. Underneath the caption is simple: _margarita mate #midnightkiss_ with five dancing girls and a drink emoji. 

"Hey, Matilda?" Harry asks to his sleeping infant, whispering so Austin doesn't hear him. "Would it be petty for me to like this just so Alexa wakes up with a bunch of notifications tomorrow? That would be petty, right?"

Matilda continues sleeping. He presses his mouth to the top of her head. "I want to be petty. Not fair that she gets to kiss Nick and I'm - here."

People always say that what you do on New Year's Day is what you'll be doing for the rest of the year. By that logic, Harry will be kissing Taylor Swift and setting his fans on Alexa Chung's Instagram page for 2018. 

Scott and Andrea lead the congregation upstairs to bed around half one. Harry lifts Matilda down gently into her crib, careful not to wake her. He puts the fluffy ostrich next to her outstretched arm. 

Taylor's waiting in the bedroom. She's at the window, looking across New York at the display it's put on. Hundreds of thousands of people are making their way home or else their party hasn't even started yet. The whole city feels like it's on fire, like there's a spark igniting the heavy haze of light pollution, setting it aflame. 

"New York is beautiful, tonight."

Harry opens his mouth to speak and - "Why did you say no?"

Shadows dance across their bedroom as Taylor slowly turns. The sweater she's had on all night has sparkles sewed into it, and it glimmers as she takes a step towards him. 

"What?"

"Why did you say no? That night in London."

Her mouth is turned all the way down but her eyes aren't confused. "You weren't asking because you loved me. You were asking because you felt like you should."

"Okay. What else?"

"It was too soon."

"So if I asked now, it would be different?"

Taylor stills. Harry's heart stills along with her. 

"You're not going to ask now," Taylor says, her voice measured, even. She's always been good at getting the right quantities. Harry just eyeballs it, throws in too much nutmeg because he likes the smell. 

"I could."

"But you're not going to."

"Would you say yes? If I did."

"You're not going to."

"You didn't answer my question."

Taylor narrows her eyes at him, then looks away, at the wall. Her shoulders are tight and flat, sticking sharp on either side of her neck. She's in battle mode but her hands are shaking, Harry can tell even in the dark. 

"No," she says, slowly. "I wouldn't."

Harry nods. 

"I think I want to move out," Harry says, surprised when the words leave his lips. He waits to hear himself apologize but there isn't one bubbling past his tongue. 

"Because I- because I don't want to marry you? Are you serious?"

"I don't know why I said that."

"I don't want to get married because you don't want to buy a house with me." Her voice quivers round the edges. "I don't want to get married because you didn't ask Selena what kind of ring I would want. I don't want to get married because you're not - you're not down on one knee."

"Okay."

"Okay? That's all you have to say?"

"What do you want me to say, Taylor?"

"Something!"

"Wait, wait, I know. Everything that's in that song, right? I want you for worse or for better. I would wait for ever and ever-"

"You're an asshole."

"Thanks."

"What, no quick line? Is it my turn to throw your words back in your face?"

"Fuck-" Harry drops his head in his hands. All he wants to do is sleep. He can wake up and go for another round of this, get it all out then, but he wants to sleep first. "I'm so tired."

The room falls quiet, the only sound the quiet crackling of the baby monitor on Taylor's bedside table and the rustling of wind against the window. Harry catches sight of the end of his hair, where a piece of confetti has gotten stuck. Andrea and Taylor pulled a Christmas cracker twenty seconds before the ball dropped and confetti got everywhere. It'll be in the carpet for weeks. 

"Just once," Taylor says, quiet. "I wanted to prove everyone wrong. I wanted to have the boy and not break up. I wanted to be better than that."

"Who cares what they-"

"Shut up, fuck, you _know_ you care. You know you live for this. You live for sixty thousand people screaming your name. You love attention, Harry. God, if Matilda even smiles at someone else you act like a jealous teenager."

Harry pulls at the ends of his hair, wants to rip it off for one clear second. "I'm so sick of fighting with you."

Because there's been more fights. Odd tensions throughout the day and passive aggressive snaps when Harry's daydreaming about Christmas on the porch, imagining an outcome if he'd said the right words. Jogada, the housekeeper that comes around once a week to clean things up, has caught them having spats over a grapefruit of a Monday morning. 

"You're sick of fighting or you're sick of me?"

"Fighting."

"I think you're just sick of me. You want to - to throw me up, wash me down the drain."

"What's that from, your newest single?"

"Fuck off."

"I mean, I always was your favourite muse, wasn't I?" 

As soon as he says it he regrets it, slapping a hand over his mouth like one of the women in _Emmerdale_. "I'm so sorry I said that."

Taylor keeps her eyes downcast, looking at the rug under their feet. Harry found it in an antique store in Sleepy Hollow on their way back from visiting Blake and Ryan. There are little yellow circular bursts in it and sometimes Harry will try to get from the toilet to bed by only stepping on them. 

"I don't think this is working."

Harry keeps quiet. 

"It just doesn't feel like you care anymore. Like it wouldn't bother you if I left for a week or a month. When I came home on Tuesday it was like you hadn't even realized I was gone."

"It's different with your family visiting."

"Come on, Harry. It's not just been the past couple of weeks. You've been like that for ages."

"What else?"

"What?"

"What else?" Harry feels a hum in his throat, feels it trickle into his nerves, down to the tips of his fingers. "What else upsets you?"

"You- you don't think I should be recording music."

"I-" Harry gapes like a fish. "I didn't say that. I just thought it was too soon."

"It wasn't. And it isn't. And that's another thing - it bothers me that you aren't writing any music. It pisses me off that you're not in the studio. You're acting like you're giving it up for Matilda, like that's noble, but you're really just giving up. You're throwing away a career that's been handed to you, and for nothing-"

"Handed to me?"

"The world's been expecting your solo album since you were eighteen, don't give me that."

"And you think I just walked into that? You think I didn't spend every single day figuring out how to go from the kid who said pussy on television to the guy people had their eye on?"

"Holding hands with Taylor Swift in Central Park certainly didn't hurt that."

"It didn't hurt you getting over Jake either."

Her mouth opens wide, furious - "God, you're on a roll with those tonight."

"I thought we were trying to hurt each other. Isn't that what you're supposed to do when you fight?"

"I don't want to hurt you. I just want to figure out why we aren't going anywhere."

"So what is it then? Why are we stuck?"

Her words come quick: "You've never come to the studio and taken me out to lunch."

"I-" Harry can feel his own face go incredulous. "Are you fucking joking? Lunch?"

"Maybe not _lunch_ , but-"

"You want me to take you out to lunch?"

"Yes!" Taylor cries, eyes shut tight. "And dinner. I want to come home and have you kiss me, and ask me how I am, and tell me we have a reservation at Le Barnardin. I want you sweep me off my fucking feet because I deserve that. Because we're supposed to be dating but I can't remember the last time we had a date."

Harry sews his mouth shut, eyes to the floor. 

"I don't expect roses every night, Harry. But it would be nice to actually have a boyfriend, rather than just say I do."

"We have an nine month old-"

"And about 300 million between us, you think we can't afford a nanny for the night?" She's chewed off almost all her lipstick. "I know the only reason you're here right now is because I got pregnant. And the only reason I'm here right now is because I got pregnant. I know that. I'm not stupid. But I was hoping that we could move on from it. And I don't think we can."

"I want to."

"No you don't."

"Yes I - fuck, Taylor."

"You realize how crazy you've been these last few months, haven't you? All of my friends ask me why you never leave Matilda alone. Why you bring her everywhere with you. And it's because she's the only thing making you happy, isn't she?" 

"That's not true."

"It is true."

"I'm happy."

"When we dated, back when we were kids, we used to listen to music on my couch for hours. You used to - touch me for hours. We could talk about everything and now. Now, we're just stuck."

"You were in love with someone else. That doesn't switch off, you - you still are, aren't you?"

"So are you." Taylor's face hardens then. "And you lied to me about it. You said you were just friends caught in a thing. But I saw you at Christmas."

"We didn't - there wasn't anything at Christmas."

"I don't think you looked at anyone but him for the entire evening. I've never seen you smile that before." She looks at her hands. "It's not easy, being the second fiddle, is it?"

There's a line in Paul Simon's _Graceland_ that's always stuck with Harry: _as if I didn't know my own bed_. And Harry's never been quite sure what Paul meant by that, but he's always taken it simply. His own bed, his own home, his own heart. 

Taylor's been next to him in bed for over a year now. 

Fucking is easy, and it's always been easy for them. It isn't hard to get it up when he's stretched between Taylor Swift's endless legs, and it isn't hard to stop his heart from jumping ship when he gets to go down on her. 

And she's home, maybe, Matilda and she. Home like Gemma is home, like the crook of Niall's elbow is home and Liam's stubble-rough chin on his shoulder and Robin's hearty chuckles and Louis' sharp grin and Anne's soft hands in his and Nick's - everything. 

"I was over you."

Harry closes his mouth. He takes a deep breath in through his nose and - "What are you talking about?"

"I was over you, Harry," Taylor says, eyes like fucking spears. "It took me too long and drove the whole world crazy but I got over it. I started dating a nice guy, I stopped calling you, we were done. And I was okay with it."

"I-" Harry needs to close his mouth. He needs to sleep for six years. He needs Nick, fuck he needs Niall and - and Liam and Louis and Zayn, fuck. 

"That night was a mistake," Taylor says, voice clear. "And I will never regret Matilda, and I know you don't either, but we weren't in love when we did that. I wanted to hurt Calvin and I knew you would hurt him the most. You were bored. _We_ were bored, fuck, I was over you. I was fucking over you."

Harry can't look at her face anymore. When he speaks again his voice sounds like it's coming through a tunnel:

"I was over you too."

There's so much chatter on the streets below them. Nearly a million people stumble home from Times Square, scarves round their chins and a simmer in their veins. Harry remembers walking back from that with his girlfriend that one year when nothing made sense. Taylor had just finished performing and it was really cold out and they kissed with a million cameras in their faces. 

He was eighteen, stupid and half in love. He's twenty-three now and just as stupid.

"That night we went to your mum's house," Taylor starts. It feels like a million years ago. "You said it would blow up in our faces."

A laugh pushes its way out of Harry's throat. 

"I love you," Taylor says and now her eyes are all wet. "And I can't imagine doing this with anyone else. But we stopped being in love awhile ago, and I think it's stupid to keep coming back to this."

She sits on the edge of the bed. 

Harry clears his throat. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She looks up, black smudges on the outside of her eyes. "I'll - we'll figure the rest out. Tomorrow."

 _Happy New Year_.

After a minute, Harry walks out of the bedroom. He closes the door behind him. 

 

"I want to start off by saying I'm not drunk. I had champagne when the ball dropped but I didn't even finish it. The bubbles make my nose hurt. I'm not drunk."

It's dead quiet in the study. The Swifts must have fallen asleep. He hopes they didn't hear the fight in the bedroom. Although maybe it would be easier if they did. Easier, if he didn't have to face Andrea in the morning. 

"I fucked up at Christmas. I shouldn't have kissed you. I asked Niall once, if he thought I was selfish. He told me I was. I've been really selfish about you. I call you mine, sometimes, in my head. Just for myself. I know I shouldn't, because you aren't, but I do it anyways. I like to think you call me yours."

The streetlights down below cast a shadow across the dark study. There are no stars in New York. He told Aimee that once, when they were at a party on a rooftop and her hair was as orange as her martini. He said _can't see the stars here_ and she said _the stars? They're everywhere_. 

"I never counted your freckles before. I thought about it, this one night. I was really jet-lagged and I came back to yours but you were so tired all we did was kiss until you passed out. So I watched the sun rise outside your tiny bedroom window and I remember it was pink. Pink like your hair, that one time. The first dye job, when it was really shit and the dye ran down your face in the rain and you sent me that picture and I laughed so hard I tripped over a speaker cable and hurt my wrist. I went back to bed when the first bird started up and I started counting them. You woke up when I got to twenty-one. I was only at your chin. We fucked instead. It was good."

Harry knew he wasn't in love with Charlotte Lyman in year 10. She had lovely hands though, really soft ones that they would swing together after school. His mum made them keep the door open when they would look over maths next to each other and his heart would thump in his chest every time she would dart a glance at the door and kiss him. Their kisses weren't that good but the anticipation of them made his heart race; Harry's toes would wriggle and his skin would simmer. 

People fight wars for that kind of feeling. Harry's finally ready to start his own.

"But I need to - before all of this happened," Harry says, screwing his eyes shut so he can get the words out. "You used to tell me that you didn't think anyone would ever put up with your chatter. And I want you to know that I want to. I want you to talk my ear off for the rest of our - lives. And I want to talk yours off too."

It was morning in Ajaccio. They wouldn't be up for a few hours yet.

"Happy New Year, Nick," Harry says, looking down at his fingers. 

He ends the call. 

 

 

House shopping, it seems, is one of Liam's specialties, so they spend two days wandering around Manhattan, looking for a flat with a garden for Matilda and enough rooms for a One Direction reunion. Liam loves one that's just around the corner from the American Museum of Natural History. It has white walls and sleek, marble counter-tops. It's exactly what Harry always thought of when he pictured being rich.

He doesn't get it. Instead he moves into a house in The Village, four floors and a wine cellar, with a patio and hardwood floors and old chandeliers in every room. Liam's disappointed at first, but perks up when he sees the wood burning fireplace in Harry's living room. Liam loves fireplaces.

There's room for every one of his paintings and for a sweet white rocking chair in Matilda's bedroom. Gemma comes down for a week and helps him fill the space. He doesn't want another empty house to sit around for him.

"H," Gemma says, sitting on the floor of Matilda's room. "She's going to love it."

Harry pops his hip against the doorway and looks around. Soft yellow walls, dark wooden floor, a fuzzy lilac rug under a handmade, wooden crib. When she gets older they can choose bookshelves together, toy boxes that look like castles and a big comfy armchair by the window for them to read _Harry Potter_ on cold nights. 

Home. It's about time he got one of them. 

It was less of an explosion, Taylor and he, than a quiet plan made up on the dining room table. They waited for the Swifts departure and a two-day old New Year, before figuring out how they were going to do everything. Taylor cried at one point and Harry joined her. 

Eventually, joint custody will become a week-by-week thing, but for now it's day-by-day. Four times a week Harry makes the half hour walk from Greenwich Village to Tribeca. It was terrible, the first few times, taking Matilda out of Taylor's arms and leaving the house with her. It's been easier, as time goes. 

And it goes. Winter whips into spring and the trees in Harry's garden start blooming over the patio. On Mondays, Thursdays, Fridays and every other Sunday, Harry takes Matilda on walks through Washington Square Park. Sometimes they watch the chess players. Sometimes Harry helps Matilda give money to the street performers. They always crouch down to say thank you to her and she almost always giggles. 

She falls asleep in the handmade crib with her ostrich by her side. Harry calls Taylor every night. He gets a new camera, takes pictures on his days without the baby. Taylor goes on a causal double date with Hailee Steinfeld and even though the guy isn't anything, she's still smiling when she tells him over tea when he drops Matilda off one morning. 

It's not quite perfect yet but it's a good start. 

A week before Matilda's first birthday, Harry gets a phone call while sitting in his office. 

He's knee deep in emails from Jeff, who is presently losing his shit after Harry let him know, on a warm Tuesday morning when he had just dropped Matilda off with Taylor, that he wanted to start recording again. They're not sure of the logistics yet - Harry doesn't plan on flying out to LA anytime soon - but it's good to know the stuffed journals lining Harry's bookcase aren't going to be gathering dust anymore. He feels useful, important again.

The call rings through the office and Harry's picking it up without looking at it, pressing it to his ear: "You can't buy Matilda a car for her birthday, Jeffrey, I'm putting my foot down."

Silence creeps down the line for a moment before: "Well, damn. Got to return that then, don't I?" 

Harry blinks. "Nick?"

"Is this a bad time?"

"No, no." Harry shoves himself away from the desk, gets up to walk to the window. He peers out at the New York sunset bleeding orange across the sky. "What is it? How are you?" 

"I'm okay. Tired."

"Me too."

"How's the little monster?"

"She's at Taylor's tonight," Harry says. He knows Nick will know, knows the whole world does by now. "But you got the card, right? The thank you card, from us? For the ostrich?"

"Yeah. I'm glad she likes it."

"Won't sleep without it."

"I'm sure she has a bunch of other toys to play with, I just thought it would be funny."

"Really, Nick, she loves it. Cried when I got it out of her hand yesterday so it wouldn't be covered in mashed pears." 

"That's great."

Harry's heart thump-thump-thumps in his chest. There's a woman with a dog down on the street below. Her bright blue beret bobs as she walks and the dog keeps skipping excitedly around every tree. Harry wonders if Pig is there with Nick or if he's in bed now, propped up on a bunch of pillows. It's late, back home, but it's also Saturday night, so maybe Nick is having a fag outside a club, calling Harry to tell him Erik is back in his life. 

"I have something to- ah. Okay." Nick takes a deep breath, laughing a bit round the edges. "I- shit. Bollocks. Alright. I quit Breakfast."

Harry blinks. He's sure he heard that wrong. "No you didn't. What?"

"I did." Nick's voice goes up on the end, a little hysterical. "I quit. I told Big Boss Ben Cooper that I didn't want to do it anymore. That I wanted to bow out before the public started eating me alive. And now I'm out."

"Shit," Harry says, faintly. "Are you okay?"

"I think I'm in shock, still. Jury's out." Nick clears his throat. "But, anyways. I did that yesterday and then this morning I woke up and Pig was staring at me like she always does and Daisy was ringing to wake me for yoga in the park and I realized that- that you aren't here. That you aren't coming back here."

Harry swallows. He's not. 

"And I knew that, all along, but I didn't really know that. I sort of kept expecting to get home and see you starkers on my couch, eating all my food and watching shit telly. And for so long I was a permanent thing and you were the variable but now you're set and I'm free. I mean, not totally free, Fiona will have my head if I don't come in Tuesday. I'm working up until May 1st. But I've got the weekend and the bank holiday Monday and-"

"What are you saying, Nick?"

"I'm saying that at around one o'clock this afternoon I got on a plane."

Harry's heart drops into his stomach. "Where are you right now?"

"At the arrivals area, in the JFK Airport," Nick says, and god, Harry can hear his smile. "And I know that this is a city known for taxis, but I think I might like to get picked up instead."

"Is this real?" Harry asks, his eyes going stupidly wet around the corners. "This isn't for radio, is it? You're not joking."

"Come pick me up and find out."

Harry puts his hand on his stomach, feels his diaphragm go in and out with his breaths. It's shaking, the hand, so he curls it up into a fist. His heart is pumping out a melody and his arteries are singing along, all the way down to the capillaries in his toes: _Nick, Nick, Nick, Nick_.

"You're really here."

"I'm really here. And I need a place to stay. You know of anyone who has room?" 

Harry's laugh is bright and loud. 

"I think I might know a place."

 

There are too many people at John F. Kennedy Airport. Harry gets on his toes to look over the crowd, keys in his hands. A school trip passes by his line of sight and as they move away he sees him.

Nick's on his phone, body all angles as he crouches up on a plastic chair next to a water fountain. A bag is at his feet, strap twisted around his ankle. He looks up as Harry takes a single step towards him. Their eyes meet.

Harry grins. After a moment, Nick grins back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm can be found [here](http://butternutstyles.tumblr.com/) for any questions/comments/concerns. thank you for reading!


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